


Fire Emblem Tellius Saga: Book 2

by SeHousman



Series: Fire Emblem: Tellius Saga [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Begnion, Crimea - Freeform, Daein, Fanfiction, Gallia, Goldoa, Kilvas, Laguz, M/M, Mad King's War, Novelization, Phoenicis, Tellius, VideoGame, adapatation, beorc, branded, parentless
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 229,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeHousman/pseuds/SeHousman
Relationships: Ike/Senerio | Soren
Series: Fire Emblem: Tellius Saga [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1691884
Comments: 50
Kudos: 57





	1. CHAPTER 32: AN ARMY RISING

In the days following the Serenes resolution, history occurred in triplicate. Firstly, the herons and hawks returned to Phoenicis with a newfound tolerance for Begnion and its young ruler. Although Sanaki wouldn’t cede the revitalized forest back to the herons, she did invite them to visit whenever they pleased. She also vowed her people would never use it for lumber nor build a road through it, thus preserving the forest as a natural sanctuary.

Sanaki also promised Tormod and Muarim she would support the Laguz Emancipation Army in its effort to eradicate illegal slaveholding, as long as it disbanded as an army and instead became an advocacy coalition. As a sign of good faith, she granted all freed slaves Begnion citizenship and protection under the law.

Most importantly of all, Sanaki vowed to help restore Crimea to its rightful rule. Although she wouldn’t conscript soldiers nor order her armies to march under the Crimean flag, she managed to amass a force of five thousand volunteers. These soldiers were tempted by the gold and pension bonuses Sanaki offered, which exceeded their regular pay. Upon walking among the troops, Soren realized they were further incentivized by the chance to win glory in a campaign against Daein, which had been considered a cultural enemy of Begnion since their secession. These soldiers—along with the small mercenary regiment Ike had grown since Gallia—now comprised the Crimea Liberation Army.

Sanaki claimed she wanted to do more, but Sephiran was traveling (once again in the disguise of a simple monk, Soren assumed) and she had little power without him. Ike and Elincia accepted this, but Soren suspected Sanaki was hedging her bets, giving them only what she was willing to lose.

Elincia wasted no time declaring Ike an official Crimean noble, a motion he accepted grudgingly. She wanted to grant him a portion of Ridell hold in Crimea, but he adamantly refused. Having to bestow some land to match his title, Elincia drew up a deed to the abandoned fort the mercenaries had long used as a base. She renamed it ‘Greil’s Retreat’, and if it was still standing after the war, Ike would officially be its owner. This made Ike laugh. “A piece of paper can do that?” he asked.

Sanaki then named him General of the Crimea Liberation Army and signed his seal of office herself. “A piece of paper can do that?” Ike repeated, less lightheartedly this time. Sanaki gifted him new clothes of the finest cloth and armor of the finest leather and steel. Despite his age, he looked the part of a general. And yet he still looked like a mercenary too. He didn’t wear a full suit of armor like a soldier, nor did he stand with a soldier’s bearing. The steel he wore wasn’t painted Crimean cream nor Begnion crimson. Some of the Begnion soldiers had already begun referring to him as their ‘sell-sword general’, and Soren wondered what the historians of the future would say.

The plan was to conquer Daein. It sounded ambitious—perhaps even ridiculous—but Soren agreed it was the best plan they had. The Liberation Army would enter Daein through Begnion’s northern border, flying Crimean colors. Once they broke through the initial defenses along the Great Wall of Ivelt, the real work would begin. They would cut through their enemy’s homelands, using their modest army to defeat the king’s army in every major township until they had the nation in a chokehold. They would gain leverage and squeeze until Ashnard was forced to release Crimea back to Elincia. If need be, they would even seize the capital city of Nevassa, where they would confront King Ashnard and personally demand the removal of all his troops from Crimea. If he refused to surrender, he would be eliminated.

“The conquest may well take a year,” Soren informed Ike gently. “A hundred and thirty years ago, Daein fought the Begnion Empire for their independence and won. That strength endures today. They are no pushover.”

“It’s already been a year,” Ike replied resignedly, “since you came running into the fort with news of war.” He shook his head. “What’s another one?”

Soren didn’t know what to say, but he to reassure him, “It’s a longshot, but it’s our only one. We can’t move the army by sea, and even if we managed, trying to purge the Daein forces from Crimea with a sea-weakened army would be futile.

“So it has to be this way,” Ike said, “and it has to be me.” He looked sad.

Soren was surprised. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ike might struggle with his new role as general. “You mustn’t let your men see you this way,” was all he could think to advise.

Ike’s mouth turned into the shadow of a smile. “I am not letting my men see me this way. I am letting you see me this way. There’s a difference.”

Soren was silent for a few moments, not knowing what Ike needed. “I will see this through to the end, if you will,” he finally said. He hoped it was the right thing to say.

It seemed to work. Ike stood taller and set his jaw. He had a strip of green cloth in his hand, and now he tied the band around his head. Ever since Soren had returned from Melior to fight beside his friend on the battlefield, Ike had been wearing bands like these to keep the hair and sweat out of his eyes. Seeing him in it now, Soren thought he looked ready to lead his mercenaries into the fray.

Eventually the Greil Mercenaries abandoned the comforts of Sienne, and the cool autumn breeze pushed the Crimea Liberation Army north. At this rate, they would be invading much of Daein in the winter, which wasn’t ideal. But Soren counted his advantages. Acting now might catch Daein off guard. The Liberation Army was small and mobile while Daein’s standing army was large and spread out. They would have difficulty gathering information, moving troops and supplies, and coordinating their movements through the ice and snow. The Liberation Army, on the other hand, just had to keep moving and avoid dying of exposure.

Tanith and a contingent of four hundred Holy Guards had joined the army, as did Tormod and Muarim. Since Sanaki was protecting their laguz friends, they’d vowed to fight beside Ike to show their gratitude. As for Jill, she’d agreed to formally forsake her homeland and join the Greil Mercenaries. She explained that she’d been wrong to think laguz were monsters and wrong to think Daein had the right to invade Crimea. She claimed to want to correct these mistakes and teach her people the truth. Stefan, Makalov, Devdan, Astrid, and Gatrie were all equally adamant about remaining with the Liberation Army.

“I don’t think you knew what you were signing on for when you agreed to fight with us,” Ike had said to them. “You can leave now with no shame. There’s no need for you to march with us to war.” But they’d refused, saying they would follow Ike anywhere. (In Gatrie’s case, it was a particularly tearful declaration.) Even the merchants they’d picked up in Gebal insisted on remaining with the company, claiming they were making good money as sutlers.

Much to Soren’s unease, Nasir had also decided to stay and serve as an advisor to Ike—albeit unofficial and unpaid. Ike welcomed the dragon with open arms, so Soren didn’t speak against it. But he would have been happier without the man’s calculating gaze on the back of his and Ike’s heads.

These companions and more marched north to the knife-edged mountains that stretched southeast to northwest, separating Begnion and Daein. Here in the steep cliffs, it was already beginning to snow.

When they’d seceded from the empire, Daein’s best engineers had erected massive stretches of wall in this mountain range, filling the gaps and making it as strong a border as the Erzt Mountains between Begnion and Gallia. The Great Wall of Ivelt was still in excellent repair, and crossing was only possible at the various fort-like entry points. They were sure to be well-guarded, and passing through would be the first hurdle of the campaign.

Wind was whistling through the strategy tent the night before the invasion, and Soren was poring over his maps and plans for the first assault. It was only now, as he tried to keep the papers down with stone weights, that he realized he was returning to Daein for the first time since he’d been four years old.

Despite this revelation, he didn’t think of Daein with any loyalty or fondness. Galina’s hovel had been no more a home to him that Sileas’s house in Gallia. Neither did Soren consider Crimea his homeland, despite his years spent there and all he was about to do to win it back. If he were forced name his ‘home’, he supposed it would be with Ike and the Greil Mercenaries. With this thought in mind, he vowed to do his best as the tactician of this army. 

They’d made camp a couple hours south of the wall fort known as Tor Garen. This would be the first test of the war. If they couldn’t breach Ivelt quickly, reinforcements would come and they’d never breach it at all. The war would be over before it even began.

The troops sat around campfires and in tents telling stories about ‘Mad’ King Ashnard. They recounted how he’d miraculously risen to the throne after thirty-four thousand of his countrymen (and the majority of the royal family) had died in a terrible plague. They said he’d been born from the ashes like a phoenix, pulling his nation together, ending the plague, and surrounding himself with Tellius’s best fighters—the most powerful of which were known as the Four Riders. The shared rumors, out of fear and respect, that he fought like a blood-crazed demon. They bemoaned the fact that they had no chance to defeat him, but they were excited the face him too. 

Soren could have laughed. They actually expected to reach Nevassa, when tomorrow would tell if they would even set foot in Daein. But he did not laugh, because he had more important things to think about than the soldiers’ misjudged confidence. He’d been busy spying on Nasir these past last weeks, and from his investigations, he had a hypothesis.

Despite being Goldoan, Nasir was allied with Gallia and an acquaintance of Ranulf. After successfully guiding Elincia to Begnion, he’d become interested in Sanaki’s interference in the smuggling of feral laguz and her confrontation of illegal slaveholding. Having observed him these past few weeks, Soren had also discovered Nasir possessed a strange crystal that apparently served as a communication device. (Either that, or he was actually insane and fancied whispering to rocks in his spare time.) Although Soren could never get close enough to hear, he assumed the dragon was using the stone to send messages to Gallia. Considering these factors, Soren deduced that Nasir was indeed a spy for the beast kingdom.

This was not particularly damning. If Soren were King Caineghis, he too would have sent a spy to evaluate the princess’s potential and the odds of the war. And yet a foreboding feeling itched at the back of his mind. Ike and Elincia had both proven themselves. They had earned the trust and resources of the apostle and were now marching to attack Daein. Surely Nasir’s mission was over. He should have been able to tell Caineghis that the beorc and laguz had reached a workable relationship and that Crimea had a chance of winning this war and deserved some aid. But why then had he chosen to come to Daein, and why did he insist on keeping his true role a secret?

Soren supposed it was possible Nasir wanted to see how they performed in their first battle. Or perhaps, like Jill, Astrid, and the others, he’d been won over by Ike’s determination and wanted to help. But he doubted this was the case. Nasir wasn’t that emotional, and he didn’t even fight. (Ike was most persuasive on the battlefield.) Soren shook his head to rid himself of the speculation.

“Hey, Soren, how are you?” Ike’s weary voice jogged Soren from his contemplation. “You look perplexed.” He yawned.

Soren regained his composure. “Do not worry about my stress. I can tell you are enduring far more.”

Ike shrugged, but the shadows under his eyes and his haunted expression betrayed him. “Well, I never expected to be general of an army,” he reminded. “I never even thought I would be commander of the Greil Mercenaries at my age. I thought my dad would run the group for years. But now he’s gone and I have to take care of everybody. Not to mention everyone is asking me what to do and where to go, even Tanith and her Holy Guards.” He shook his head numbly.

“If Tanith is asking you for orders, then she must respect you. You should accept such a situation with confidence not uncertainty,” Soren advised.

“I know you’re right, but still…”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “If you do not believe you are suited for it, perhaps you should step down. I am sure Elincia can find another general to lead her troops.”

Ike frowned, but a moment later, his anger melted and he laughed. “You are just the one I needed to talk to, Soren. You’re right, of course. I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon.”

“As am I,” Soren assured.

Ike smirked. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”

“Not in the least.”

Ike chuckled at that, and Soren was glad he could make him feel better.

Just then, Elincia appeared at the tent flap. “My lord Ike, are preparations complete?” she asked brightly. With a reassuring nod at Ike, Soren took his leave.

Early the next morning, when they were just about to depart for the wall, they were visited by King Tibarn, his two closest attendants, and the two heron siblings. This was a surprise, because they were all supposed to be back in Phoenicis. Soren had never expected to see the bird-men again. He, Ike, Titania, Nasir, and Elincia met with them in the strategy tent, which was fortunately one of the few that hadn’t been dismantled yet.

Tibarn wasted no time declaring that Ike’s work in the Serenes Forest had earned the king’s trust and aid in this war. Although he couldn’t provide any troops without the Phoenician council’s permission, he’d agreed to let Reyson fight in the Liberation Army, and Reyson surprised everyone by wanting to join despite his distrust for beorc. The king also loaned Ike his attendants—Janaff and Ulki—as soldiers in his army and protectors of the prince.

As loath as Soren was to accept more laguz members, he wasn’t so stubborn that he would refuse such a boon in fighting strength. The heron’s galdr magic would be quite advantageous, and apparently the hawks Janaff and Ulki were gifted with extraordinary sight and hearing respectively, making them excellent scouts. Soren immediately began incorporating these units into his strategies.

Tibarn and Leanne flew south, the remnants of the camp were packed, and Ike walked to the head of his army. “Now,” he called to his troops, “Let’s really get started. Everyone, move out!” He signaled Tanith and the commanders of the Begnion phalanxes. The army divided into three battalions that would hit the wall at three different entry points simultaneously (as was Soren’s plan). The Greil Mercenaries and Holy Guards would take Tor Garen while two of Ike’s lieutenants led assaults on Tor Ivan in the west and Tor Ilsen in the east.

The wall fort was comprised of two thick stone walls, which created an enclosed space with staggered entrances. It offered shelter from the cold mountain winds, living quarters for the soldiers stationed here, and three tiers of arrow loops promising a hellish rain on any who sought forced entry. That being said, there were no ballistae or other anti-siege weaponry, which was why Soren had chosen Tor Garen in the first place.

To get into Daein, they would have to survive the long stairs, break into the Begnion-facing entrance, pass through the fort, and exit via the nearest Daein-facing entrance—all while fighting the garrison and their arrows.

As soon as they reached the winding mountain staircase, Soren was disturbed by Daein’s preparedness. Janaff and Ulki proved their worth by reporting an ambush hiding in crevasses and behind rocks halfway up the cliff. Ike slowed the battalion, while Tanith, the hawks, and the rest of the Holy Guards investigated. Sure enough, they discovered small bands of soldiers with gray-brown cloaks and mud caked onto their skin to hide their scent from the beast laguz. They were heavily armed and some were even waiting to spring boulder straps. They must have had ample warning and yet specific enough knowledge to know the Liberation Army was attacking today.

But there was no turning back now. Once they came within range of the wall, they were incessantly bombarded by arrows. It seemed every loophole was manned, and Soren imagined the fort was full with archers—certainly more than the usual sentry garrison. He, Ilyana, and a couple Begnion mages wove a continuous wall of wind to divert most of the arrows, but some still got through. Defenseless units like Rolf and Rhys were blocked by armored units like Gatrie and Titania (whose horse was bedecked in newly forged steel), and many of the Begnion soldiers raised wide pavises above their heads.

When they reached the top, Tormod (who was surprisingly skilled for his age) brought enormous balls of fire crashing upon the gate, interchanged with battering attacks from Mordecai and Muarim. Eventually the wood and iron gave way, and army was in.

As Soren had suspected from the sheer number of arrows, Tor Garen was packed. But of course, they weren’t all archers. Shield knights, swordsmen, halberdiers, axmen, and mages awaited them inside—all armored and well-armed. It was undeniable that Daein had known they were coming.

If Soren were the enemy commander and had had time to prepare for the coming assault, his strategy would have been to trap the Liberation Army in the fort and slaughter them from both sides. With this in mind, he warned Ike to leave some of the winged units guarding the entrance, so they could retreat if need be.

When the mercenaries and the majority of the soldiers were fighting well into the interior of the fort (heading east), reinforcements appeared from the west section off the wall, just as Soren had predicted. But Tanith and her pegasus knights were guarding their rear, and they did their job well—flanking the reinforcements from the entryway and taking them by surprise. Soren breathed a sigh of relief and immediately regretted it. _Daein may have more surprises for us today_ , he reminded himself.

And so they did: ravens. Two hundred laguz like those they’d fought at sea suddenly swooped from the shadowy rafters. Outside, over three hundred more rose from the forest. They attacked the pegasus knights, who swiftly retreated inside to avoid being overwhelmed. But the ravens were right behind them. For a moment, Soren couldn’t see anything down the hall except for all the feathers in the air. They may have avoided Daein’s initial trap, but now they were fighting on both sides anyway.

Ike’s voice called over the turmoil, ordering the army to regroup: “Archers to the back! Watch those crows and keep their talons on the floor! Pikes up front! Daein’s not squishing us without getting pricked! If you’ve got a shield, make a wall—front and back! We hold here! Jill, Janaff, Ulki, use the rafters!” He strode confidently through the throng of soldiers, and Soren was amazed at how easily he took control of the situation on both ends.

At his order, Tanith prepared her knights for a charge, riding seven abreast. It was difficult to make enough room to build momentum, but Ike encouraged everyone to squeeze back until the charge began. It was a risk, leaving a thin line of archers and shield-bearers to hold back the ravens. But they held their ground until the moment Tanith ordered them to make way. Then they pressed themselves to the walls, allowing the winged horses to canter past, impaling the ravens on lances and not stopping until they were far down the hall. The rest of the soldiers flooded to seize the ground they’d claimed. Thus were they able to stave off the rear assault.

Next Ike assigned Soren and the other mages to the catwalks on either side of the hall. These provided access to the second and third levels of arrow loops, but now they served as a higher vantage point from which Soren could fire upon the Daein soldiers. Supported by the barrage of wind, fire, and lightning, Ike personally led the charge. At his command, the Begnion soldiers lifted their shields, broke their lines, and pushed against the Daeins with all of their strength. They could finally make progress again.

The battle was far from over, but the fighting was more spread out. No longer pinched into a tight space, the seventeen hundred troops under Ike’s command were able to capitalize on their superior numbers. They raced through the long hall like trails of fire as they searched for the exit.

The crisis now over, Soren fell back slightly so he could catch his breath and finally allow his surprise to wash over him. Kilvas had allied itself with Daein; it didn’t make sense. Although Daein was the only beorc nation not share a border with laguz, they were known for their particularly ardent hatred of laguz-kind. (Then again, perhaps that was why they were able to maintain such a pure national bigotry). The Daein citizenry should never have consented to subhuman aid, the Daein Army should never have asked for it, and Kilvas should never have accepted such a request. Soren wondered how their pride could allow them to work with humans.

That being said, the Kilvans were undeniably here. What made sense didn’t matter, and his busied thoughts were making him negligent. “Get your head out of the clouds!” scolded Mia, who cut down a swordsman charging at him. Soren didn’t need to be told twice. He flipped through his tome until he came to his Elwind spells and decided he would make the crows regret fighting indoors.

Before long, they neared Tor Garen’s northern exit. Daein soil was so close, but the garrison had to be fully eliminated if they were going to seize this point of entry. That being said, they were finally winning, and morale swung high with Ike calling encouragement to close friends and unfamiliar foot soldiers alike.

The Greil Mercenaries had coalesced into an unofficial vanguard, driving the head of the army and crashing through each new defensive line Daein threw together. But their vigor petered out when they came to an obstacle they couldn’t power through: one of their own.

“…My arrows will find you no matter where you run!” laughed the familiar voice.

Jill’s wyvern fell from the rafters like a rock. The beast screamed pitifully, while she frantically removed arrows from its leathery underbelly. Every arrow had expertly avoided the ventral plating. Devdan and Nephenee defended her, while Rhys darted in to heal the animal’s wounds. “There’s a fiend of an archer up ahead,” Jill swore. But the warning was unnecessary; the original Greil Mercenaries would have known that snide voice anywhere.

Soren, Ike, and the others surged forth, easily breaking through the barricade of Daein soldiers. Then Rolf surprised everyone with a burst of speed. He ducked and dived until he was at the front of the group, where he climbed to the top of some debris. “Shinon?” he asked above the clash of battle.

“Rolf, get down from there!” Oscar hissed, but the boy remained.

Soren and the others defended him while he scanned the Daein hoard. Shinon soon appeared, notching an arrow as he walked forward. “Rolf…” he said, eyeing the thirteen-year-old from head to toe.

“Shinon, it is you!” he cried excitedly, rushing down from his perch. The Daein forces surged forward, and Soren lost both archers from view. Oscar and Boyd shouted for their brother, and Soren understood their fear—Shinon was fighting for Daein, and he was not the sentimental type. The danger to Rolf was considerable.

However, Rolf reappeared a couple minutes later, sobbing but apparently uninjured. Oscar and Boyd rushed to protect him, their faces contorted in fear and guilt. They ferried the boy behind the mercenaries’ front line. There Ike fell back to hear Rolf’s report: Shinon would not be rejoining them. His face made it clear he wasn’t happy about this, but Soren couldn’t understand the sobering effect this had on the others. Shinon had never been particularly popular.

“Well, we’re not makin’ any pro’ress as it is,” Nephenee spoke up. “I don’t know ‘em. I’ll do it.” She hefted a javelin to her shoulder and marched forward before anyone could stop her. She scanned the enemy ranks until she found Shinon. They traded shots and dodges while the rest of the mercenaries occupied the Daein troops. Their battle brought them closer until Shinon rolled back and fired an arrow deep into her side. She cried out in agony, dropping her spear to clutch the place where the fletching protruded. Ike immediately called her back (which in reality meant Brom jogged out to drag her back), and he took her place.

They fought in close combat, Ike slashing and Shinon dodging and blocking with his bow. Shinon retreated when he could and shot arrow after arrow, but Ike was fast. He narrowly dodged the projectiles, earning deep grazes on his face, neck, shoulders, arms. He pursued Shinon in circles, and he was relentless.

“I always knew it would come to this, Ike,” Shinon panted.

“Shinon…” Ike shook his head, panting just as hard.

Shinon was the worse off, but he knocked another arrow. “Watch yourself!”

Ike lunged forward, dodging the arrow while the last steps between them disappeared.

Shinon crumpled onto Ike’s blade, almost as if he were hugging it. “Curses…” he whispered.

Soren and Titania ran to Ike’s side while the other mercenaries pushed ahead to keep the Daein forces at bay.

“Don’t move,” Ike ordered huskily. He’d cut off his cape and was now wrapping Shinon’s abdomen with the cloth. “You’ll tear the wound wide open.” His tone was strict, but his eyes were moist.

“What’re you planning?” Shinon patronized. “D-do it now.” He grabbed Ike by the collar of his shirt. “Finish me…idiot.” With that, he passed out.

“Find Rhys!” Ike ordered Soren, “Shinon’s coming with us.”

Soren was no longer surprised by Ike’s capacity for mercy. He cared for everyone, even his enemies, and Shinon had once been a friend, of sorts. Soren felt a slight prickling in his stomach, like unease but gentler. “Of course, Ike,” he replied.

As he searched for the healer, Soren decided there was good reason to keep Shinon alive, and it had nothing to do with being a deserter or a friend. The fact of the matter was that he might be able to tell them how Daein had known they were coming today, and that was something Soren desperately wanted to know.

Flooding through the northern gate, the Liberation Army poured into the cool air and chased the retreating Kilvan and Daein soldiers down the mountainside until Ike ordered them not to pursue. They regrouped to deal with the enemy soldiers still stuck inside Tor Garen or otherwise unable to escape. These stragglers refused Ike’s demand to surrender and were cheerfully picked off by the Begnion victors.

Everyone began to relax until Soren reminded Ike that there was still more work to be done. The other two battalions hadn’t had Janaff and Ulki to warn them of ambushes, nor Ike’s clear-headed leadership in the face of an unexpected pincer attack. Assuming Daein’s strategy had been the same at every fort, they could require aid at this very moment. Leaving an infirmary camp and modest guard behind, Soren advised Ike divide his force and move out to support the other battalions at once. Tanith led one and Ike the other, while Titania remained at Tor Garen. Despite his exhaustion, Soren insisted he go with Ike.

They fought until dusk and held the three forts while word of defeat spread east and west like wildfire. By midnight, Tanith’s scouts reported Daein and Kilvan soldiers fleeing north all across the Great Wall. In the coming days, Begnion would claim it, and Ivelt would under the control of the empire—something they’d desired since its erection. 

Leaving only small garrisons to clean up and attend the injured at Tor Ivan and Tor Ilsen, the majority of the army reconvened and established a basecamp in front of Tor Garen. Rhys, Mist, and the Begnion clerics had already spent hours saving their comrades’ lives and limbs, and there was no rest in sight.

After getting early casualty counts from Titania and hearing Tanith’s latest report, Ike and Soren touched base with the Begnion lieutenants. But it was clear this wasn’t where Ike wanted to be. Soren could guess his thoughts were on Shinon, and sure enough, he went to the archer’s infirmary tent as soon as the meeting was over. Soren was forced to stay and finish collecting everyone’s oral reports, but as soon as he was done, he rushed in the same direction.

He passed Ike just as he had exited the tent. “Well?” Soren asked.

“He’s going to stay and join us again, though he’s not entirely happy about it,” Ike replied with a satisfied smile. “Draw up a contract for him later?”

Soren wasn’t entirely surprised. “If you wish it,” he gave in, and once Ike had gone, he ducked into the tent. Shinon was lying in one of the cots, beside which lay a pair of unlocked manacles Soren could only assume Ike had removed. “Shinon,” he said, standing at the end of the bed, “wake up.”

His eyes opened a slit. “I wasn’t asleep, you pompous whelp.”

Soren ignored the insult. “Did Daein know we were coming today?”

“Well, of course they did,” he snorted, “A couple weeks ago we first knew it, and then they told us to all get ready yesterday morning. It was a lovely little trap if I do say so myself. Those Daein people know what they’re doing.”

“They lost.”

“I guess.”

“Do you happen to know how they came to have the knowledge of our numbers, target, and timing?” Soren asked next.

Shinon shrugged. “I was just a mercenary. They didn’t tell me nothing.”

“How very unhelpful.” He turned to go, but Shinon added:

“You’ve got to figure it’s a mole, right? Even you’re not that stupid.”

“Indeed, I am not.” Soren turned back to him.

“Then what’s with the questions?” he yawned. “Why do you care anyway?”

Soren was surprised but then realized he shouldn’t expect Shinon to know his position. “Because I am the tactician of this army,” he explained.

Shinon chuckled coldly. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. After seeing Rolf out there killin’ folk like he was born to it. Guess li’l kids are running the show.”

Soren considered rebuking the insinuation, but Shinon wasn’t entirely wrong. “You should see the empress of Begnion, then,” he said, “You’d certainly get a kick out of that.”

Leaving Shinon confused, Soren exited the tent. The night air was bitter, and snow had begun drifting out of the black sky. He knew what he had to do next, but he didn’t like it.

He found the bird-men at the edge of camp. Ulki was listening and Janaff peering intently into the darkness. Soren felt the usual nervousness he experienced when speaking with laguz. As always, the fear ran through his mind that they would ignore him, that they’d look right through him, that they’d realize he was a ‘Parentless’.

However, they dutifully ceased their watchfulness to face him. “You are General Ike’s retainer, as we are for King Tibarn, aren’t you?” Ulki asked.

“I’m Soren.”

“Well, nice to meet you, kid!” Janaff held out his hand. When Soren made no motion to take it, he looked uncertain. “Uh, beorc shake hands, don’t they?” he whispered to Ulki.

Reyson stepped forward. “It is no fault of yours, Janaff. This human does not like laguz.”

“Oh.” Janaff dropped his hand. “What do you want then?”

“I am certain Daein was expecting us today, but I do not know how they acquired their intelligence. They did have the ravens’ help. I was wondering if there are any crows with abilities similar to yours.”

“There are none,” Ulki replied, narrowing his eyes, “and if there were, it is impossible they saw or heard us without our being aware of them.”

“I’ll second that,” Janaff agreed, “We wouldn’t be King Tibarn’s eyes and ears if we weren’t the best!”

“Understood.” Soren nodded. “That will be all.” He was aware of the birdmen’s piercing eyes on him all the way back to camp.

He’d nearly reached the strategy tent when he heard voices coming from inside. No one was currently on guard, which meant the soldiers currently on shift must have been dismissed. Rather than enter, Soren walked around back, where he could listen unobserved.

“You know, you never look relaxed,” Nasir’s voice was saying. “You should put your feet up for a moment.”

“Nasir,” Ike yawned. “Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen much of you lately.” He sounded tired, and Soren wondered if he’d sent the guards away for privacy or if Nasir had. The latter would be concerning, as the dragon had no authority to do such a thing.

“I’ve been a bit busy,” Nasir replied. “In order to leave Begnion, I had to sell my ship and dismiss my crew… There was a lot to take care of.”

They’d left Sienne weeks ago, which meant this was no excuse, but Ike didn’t challenge it. Soren remained completely still as he listened. If there was a traitor in the Liberation Army, Nasir was at the top of his list.

“Is that so?” Ike shook his head. “It looks like you’ve been caught up in our struggle after all. Are you alright with that? I mean, I know you’ve got a lot of your own matters to deal with.”

“It is not as if I’ve abandoned my own interests to join up with the Crimean army. I’ve judged that there’s value in traveling with you. So don’t worry about it overly much.”

That sounded suspicious—but Ike didn’t seem to think so. “If you say so. You’re a pretty smart guy, so it’s nice having you around.”

“I think that’s mutual. Now then, I’ve got some good news.”

Soren leaned closer. Ike asked: “What is it?”

“Senior officials in Gallia are moving to action. Until now, they’ve been content to take a defensive stance and wait it out, but it appears this never-ending stalemate has exhausted their patience. Ike, this victory here today was a very important thing. It may prove to be a decisive first step in breaking Daein’s power. News of it will spread like wildfire over the entire continent and give countries confidence to speak out against Daein. With Crimea as a rallying point, Gallia may well be moved to join this war. You just need to keep winning. If you can do that, the road will open before you.”

Soren wondered where Nasir was getting his information from, or how he could claim to have a recent report. But again, Ike didn’t question him. “History will be made…” he said in awe. “Could Daein truly fall at our hands? Can I make that happen? Me?”

“Use what you’ve been given, and great things will happen,” encouraged Nasir, “You have it in you to lead, Ike. For now, it’s merely one portion of the bird tribes, but your relationship is established. It’s because you resolved to gain their trust, and then made it happen.”

Soren was surprised to feel a pang of jealousy. Ike had been uncomfortable since being named general, and Soren had tried to remind him of his own capability. That had temporarily comforted him, but now, Nasir made him sound genuinely confident.

“It’s all due to my father…” Ike’s voice wavered. “If my actions prove to be the right ones, it will be due to the way my father raised me. ‘If you treat others in good faith, they will follow you of their own volition’—that’s what he taught me.”

“He was a magnificent man, wasn’t he?” Nasir asked kindly.

“When I was younger, I wanted nothing more than to be as strong as my father. And then I wanted to surpass him… Now, that is a goal I’ll never achieve.” Ike sniffed.

Nasir said nothing.

“Sorry,” Ike grunted, and his voice returning to normal. “I should go.”

“Of course, a general’s work is never finished,” Nasir agreed.

Ike was soon gone, but Nasir seemed to have no intention of leaving. The night was growing colder, but Soren didn’t move either.

“Who’s there?” Nasir said after a while.

Soren came around to the front of the tent and, taking a breath, entered. He stood several steps away—out of range in case Nasir were to attack (although Soren doubted he’d try anything). He was sitting behind the folding desk, with Soren’s own plans and reports within easy reach of his prying eyes. But he was leaning back, and his gaze was settled fully on Soren. 

“Soren. What are you doing here?” He was trying to appear aloof as usual, but there was a crack in his easy veneer.

Soren decided to ask directly: “What are you planning?”

Nasir narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Where did that come from? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me.” Soren crossed his arms. “We’re past that. Gallia’s decision to join in this war was based on some new information they received, wasn’t it?”

Nasir said nothing. His expression was crooked, halfway between a smile and a scowl.

“Cat got your tongue? Fine. I’ll tell you what you’ve been doing here.” Soren took a step forward. He hadn’t intended for this confrontation to occur tonight, but now that it was here, he wasn’t going to back down. “You were to deliver Princess Crimea to Begnion to see if she could garner any support for her cause. And—regardless of whether she got that assistance or not—to judge if she was worthy of laguz support. Am I wrong?”

“If you’ve figured all of this out, why remain silent?” His demeanor was as irritating as ever.

“Because your actions are beneficial to Princess Crimea. I’ve determined that even if left to your own devices, you would not harm her.”

“It sounds like you don’t think that’s the case anymore,” Nasir mused.

“You’ve accomplished both missions, but you’ve come back anyway.” Soren examined his face carefully, but Nasir betrayed nothing. “To what end?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“That’s true only until I reveal your purpose to Ike.”

Nasir narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice. “Everyone has a secret or two they want buried.” The corner of his mouth twisted cruelly. “Including you…Soren.”

His voice left him. His throat closed. His heart dashed through the passing seconds. When he finally judged he could speak again, he answered, albeit stiffly: “I don’t know what you mean.”

Nasir wasn’t fooled. “Oh, I trust we understand each other.”

Soren didn’t respond. He’d been caught off guard, and that made him afraid. Nasir had leverage on him, and that made him furious. But most of all, he was intrigued. By threatening to reveal the truth of his blood, Nasir had practically admitted he was up to no good. Merely being a spy for Gallia would have been a forgivable offense, but to threaten Soren like this meant Nasir was serious about keeping his activities a secret.

“The army rises early tomorrow. I suggest we turn in.” Nasir stood from the desk as if it were his own.

Frustrated that his prey was escaping, Soren decided to make a gamble: “The enemy knew we were coming today.” At least he could watch Nasir’s expression for any sign of guilt.

“And you think I’m responsible?” he asked innocently.

“Yes, I do.”

“My oh my...” he chuckled, “You really are suspicious, aren’t you?” His smile was patronizing, but when Soren didn’t retract his accusation, his expression darkened. “Good night, Soren,” he muttered before leaving.

Soren went to the desk to ascertain that nothing was missing, while debating whether he should bring the dragon’s behavior to Ike’s attention. He quickly determined that he could not. If Nasir leaked Soren’s secret, everyone would know he was a Branded. His life with the Greil Mercenaries would come to an abrupt end.

Even if Soren did tell Ike, he doubted he would believe him. Ike trusted and respected Nasir. He enjoyed his company and took comfort from him. No accusation Soren could make would overcome that friendship.

Soren allowed himself a few hours’ sleep and then made sure Ike got some too. When they were both awake again, the sun had risen, and the pair (plus Tanith, Titania, and Nasir) set about getting the convoy wagons through the wall. Ike had sent word of their victory as soon as the battle had concluded, and Elincia and the merchants had been the first to cross over this morning.

Right now, however, Tor Garen was littered with bodies, and the wagons couldn’t get through. “They will have to be cleared—” Tanith’s nostrils flared in disgust “—to make way for the supply carts.”

Soren examined at the spent battleground. The place reeked of blood and innards, and he hoped he wouldn’t be assigned the task. Being an officer had to have some perks.

“We should bury them,” Ike suggested in a soft voice.

Soren and Titania exchanged glances. “This is war, Ike. We don’t have the resources to waste on such matters,” he replied firmly. “We hardly have time to bury our own dead.” His thoughts turned to the Begnion soldiers who had, instead of resting, spent hours dragging their comrades’ bodies out of the three forts, and even more hours digging graves in the frozen dirt.

“It is harsh but true,” Titania agreed. After a moment she added, “I suppose we could take their bodies outside and burn them.”

“We should do more.” Ike rolled his fists. “They probably believed in Ashera, didn’t they? Wouldn’t their families want them to get their last rites?”

“Burn them, bury them, or merely move them aside where someone else can take care of them,” Nasir replied, “Regardless, their families will never see them again. They will never know where and when they died.”

This remark seemed to make Ike even more frustrated.

“I am sorry, Ike,” Titania said softly.

A stir of movement suddenly attracted their attention, and Ike lunged toward it. “Please, don’t hurt me!” a man’s voice squeaked. He raised one hand, but the other was wrapped in blood-soaked cloth and pressed against his stomach. He was on his side, and although he tried to pull himself up into a sitting position, his legs didn’t move at all. By his armor, Soren could tell he was a Daein archer.

Ike fell upon him—but in concern, not violence. He removed his headband and tied it tight around the man’s injured arm to make a tourniquet. The soldier’s face was ghostly pale. He’d already lost a lot of blood, and it was a wonder he’d survived all night.

“What are you doing?” Tanith asked, not cruelly, but not kindly either.

“There are survivors!” Ike exclaimed, as if they hadn’t realized.

Titania nodded. “There were bound to be some,” she said carefully, looking torn. “In an ideal situation, we could-”

“We need to get him to Mist,” Ike declared urgently. He turned back to the man, whose face was slack. “Are there more of you?”

“I’ve ‘eard moans,” the Daein managed to say. “How long ‘as it been?”

“Ike,” Soren intervened. “He is our enemy. We cannot take him to our basecamp. We cannot waste our healers’ time and energy on him. You say to bring him to Mist? Have you seen your sister? She’s exhausted. You would have her heal enemy soldiers as well as your own? What, then, was the point of this battle?”

“Soren, you’re wrong-” Ike tried to say.

But Soren continued: “And even if you save the life of this man and all his comrades, what then? Will you take them as prisoners? Will you shackle them and make them work? We don’t have the food to sustain them. We don’t have the men to guard them.”

“We could-”

Soren wasn’t finished. “Some of the Begnion soldiers under your command are veterans of previous skirmishes with Daein. They would kill this man as soon as looking at him. What is it you think they’ve been doing as they’ve encountered survivors in the other forts?”

“I-” Ike shook his head. He seemed lost.

Soren suddenly regretted all he’d said. He’d been frustrated with Ike’s naivety, not even remembering it was his friend he was talking to, his friend who’d been struggling with his role as general, his friend on whom relied so much.

Titania stepped between them, with her palms raised diplomatically. “If I may offer a solution,” she said in a measured tone, “We ask volunteers to extract them and heal them enough for other volunteers to carry them down to the village at the base of the mountain. Then they will be in the care of their own people. In exchange for their safe release we can requisition food, supplies, and intelligence from the villagers.”

“Requisition?” Ike repeated.

“It’s better than raiding, looting, and interrogating them,” Nasir pointed out. “Invading armies have done much worse.”

Soren had to agree. “It will be a long war, and we will need to sustain our troops through all of it. We can’t count on Begnion to maintain a constant supply. We will have to take from the Daeins, one way or another.”

Ike didn’t seem happy about it, but he nodded. He glanced down at the injured man in his lap. “Let’s just help them.” He turned to Tanith. “Return to the camp and ask for volunteers.” Tanith saluted and jogged off. Ike tried to make the man more comfortable.

“Thank…you,” he breathed.

Titania and Nasir spread out, looking for survivors, but Soren lingered. “It is imperative that the enemy soldiers not come into contact with our camp, and the volunteers must be ordered not to speak with them.”

“Agreed,” Ike said.

Soren thought for a moment. “If this becomes common course for our army, it will mean a longer campaign and far more risk. Every man we help could stab us in the back—stab your sister in the back as she leans over them, trying to heal them. You should understand that.”

“I do understand that,” Ike said grimly.

“Not every man we help will want our aid. Daein is a proud nation, and this pride extends beyond its military. The families to whom we attempt to return the soldiers may not accept them. You should be ready for that too.”

“I am,” Ike said.

Soren thought a moment. “On the other hand, your mercy may protect us from a horde of vengeful Daeins rising in our rear. As you well know, our army is small. Begnion will take Ivelt and guard our supply route, but we won’t be able to safeguard the forts and townships we conquer, leaving us at risk of attack from behind. But an enemy placated in defeat is less likely to rise up and seek revenge.”

Ike flashed the barest smile.

Soren wanted to make up for his previous attack, and so he continued spouting optimism: “Who knows? Perhaps word of your charity will reach the ears of Daein soldiers in Crimea. Hearing of your mercy, they may, in turn, show mercy to the Crimeans under their guard.”

Ike frowned slightly. “You don’t honestly believe that. I can tell.”

Soren shrugged.

Ike sighed. “Well, thanks for the effort. Sometimes I wonder how coldhearted you really are.”

Soren tried to look aloof and then noticed that the archer in Ike’s lap hadn’t stirred for a while. “How is he?”

“Dead,” Ike answered. He gingerly removed the body, took back his headband (which was now blood-soaked), and stood up.

“I hope you wash that before you wear it again,” was all Soren could manage to say. His consolations were spent.

Mountains dominated much of southern Daein, and so even when the Liberation Army reached the bottom of one, there was always another to conquer. This region was also well-fortified, with many strongholds housing proud warrior clans who’d reigned over their own lands for centuries. The Crimea Liberation Army would have to defeat them all. Months passed, and winter surrounded them.

Soren kept busy drawing up contingency plans and numerous strategies that would likely never be pursued. According to scouts and gently interrogated locals, King Kilvas was hiding out somewhere in these mountains, overseeing the war. The army faced his raven soldiers often enough, and between the crows and Daein’s dracoknights, everyone soon learned the advantage of keeping an eye on the sky.

However, recent blizzards were making fighting and even scouting impossible. Sometimes the army could be stuck in place for up to a week, trapped by the storms and dangerous terrain. The only things they fought on those days were frostbite and hunger. They had an army to feed, and finances and provisions had become Soren’s responsibility.

As the army’s official tactician and unofficial accountant, Ike had increased Soren’s wage to ten shares, which (with the current number of mercenaries on payroll) equated to about eleven percent. However, eleven percent of zero was still zero, and Elincia wouldn’t be able to pay them properly until this campaign was over.

That being said, Soren’s empty wallet was the least of his concerns. Planning battle strategies and charting the safest paths through the mountains consumed his every waking moment. Needless to say, he was earning his eleven percent of nothing.


	2. CHAPTER 33: DAEIN

“The scouts have located the Raven King’s position,” Soren reported at the morning briefing. “He leads a strong force of laguz and beorc alongside a Daein commander in Mondrega Pass. The pass is our only way out of the high mountains, and they know it. They will try to stop us there for good. They’ll be ready. However, with true winter only a couple weeks away, we have no choice. If we wait, the pass will close with snow and ice. I recommend we march on Mondrega immediately,” Soren finished.

Ike, Titania, Nasir, Tanith, and the Begnion lieutenants debated this course of action for some time. Everyone wanted a better solution. But there wasn’t one, and Soren knew it. They were wasting time, allowing snow to accumulate by the hour. By the end of the meeting, it was decided—they would march tomorrow at dawn.

The army came into view of the wide pass, onto which sunlight beamed through the dense clouds scattering lazy snow clusters. Visibility was decent, and the breeze was mild. This was as much in the Daeins’ and ravens’ favor as the Liberation Army’s.

Everyone marched with the same grim expression. This would be the hardest fight they’d yet known. If they were defeated, it would be the end of the war and the end of any hope for Crimea. And if the rumors of King Kilvas’s ruthlessness were true, it would be the end of every life currently marching.

To punctuate his somber thoughts, a series of low horn blows began echoing in the distance. “It appears the enemy has spotted us,” Nasir observed. 

“Well, a group this large is hard to miss,” Ike replied grimly.

“How will you proceed?”

“No tricks. Nothing fancy,” Ike declared. “We’ll hit them hard from the front— hard and fast.”

“I’m sure you’re already aware of this, but if you don’t do something about Kilvas, you’re at a disadvantage.” Nasir was oddly tense, perhaps scared. Soren had noticed it yesterday too. No matter his hidden goals, this was clearly a pivotal battle to him as well.

Ike shook his head. “Even so, it’s not as if we can turn tail and run away.”

“Now that I think on it, King Kilvas and Prince Reyson used to be close friends. Did you ask him to speak to the king?” Nasir suggested, sounding slightly desperate.

“He was most empathetic in his refusal. It seems Naesala was responsible for Reyson’s capture at the hands of Duke Tanas. I can’t really blame him.” Ike shrugged.

“And the hawks? They too are of the bird tribes. Surely some connection can be found there.” Nasir was grasping at straws, and Soren found it interesting. He was genuinely afraid they would lose. He had high stakes in this game, and they were apparently on the side of the Liberation Army. It didn’t make sense that he would be leaking information to Daein.

“They...weren’t very excited about the suggestion.”

“You could command them to do it,” Nasir reminded softly.

Ike finally seemed to notice the change in the dragon. He raised an eyebrow. “There’s an antagonism between the tribes that we don’t understand. I’d rather not force the issue. Trying to coerce them into it would be...unfair,” he explained, “I will let them do as they please.”

“That is so very like you,” Nasir said with a forced smile. “However, giving orders that are unpopular is often necessary when one is in command, and-”

“Maybe so,” Ike cut him off. “But I can only do things best I know how. My own way.” He turned away from Nasir and waved to his lieutenants. Their phalanxes were already prepared for battle. “Come, it’s time to go!” he called to them.

Soren caught Nasir’s eye and offered a smirk at his expense. Nasir glared back. Despite the fact that they were charging to what seemed like certain death, he enjoyed the fact that the dragon was off kilter for once. 

The battle was hard. It lasted all day, through the night, and into the following morning. The sundown hours were long this time of year, and although the fighting was more subdued in the dark, neither army retreated permanently. That being said, the Liberation Army was repeatedly forced back—twice by the Daein and Kilvan forces, and once by a sudden squall.

Mist, Rhys, and a couple clerics ran from one regiment to the next, mending wounds and frostbite. The rest of the army’s healers had set up a frantic triage camp in a sheltered glade between a sheer cliff and solid, ice-encrusted trees. Casualties were high, but Ike seemed relieved every time Soren reported that none of the mercenaries had died. “As long as our friends are still with us.... As long as we fight together…” he murmured distractedly as he and Soren planned new assaults.

Finally, on the second day, they penetrated farther into the pass than they had yet: about halfway. It was here the ground began to slope down again, and it was here they encountered Naesala the Raven King and the bulk of the Kilvan Armada.

Naesala was a tall man, slender yet imposing, with enormous black wings that shone glossy green and purple in the morning light. He was dressed all in black, and his hair was dark blue. His pale face was sharp, his eyes fierce and calculating. He didn’t have the mass of King Gallia or the intimidating stature of King Phoenicis, but there was something dark and cunning in his expression that chilled his opponents to the bone. “ _I know_ ,” his expression said, causing his enemies to hesitate, doubt themselves, and make fatal mistakes.

Soren knew all too well that King Kilvas would be a formidable opponent. The man’s gaze was no less penetrating to Soren’s eyes. But he was the most capable wind mage in the Liberation Army and wind magic was most effective against feathered creatures, so he had no choice but to engage him. He swallowed his fear for the sake of Ike and the company and fought his way toward Naesala. Lethe was already there, springing off a rocky outcropping to swipe at him. A couple of brave (or foolish) Begnion archers were firing arrows. Soren turned the pages of his wind tome to his more advanced wind spells. He would attempt Tornado to finish things more quickly, even though he hadn’t successfully conjured it since that day in Gallia.

Now in his shifted form, Naesala easily dodged the archers’ arrows and Lethe’s attack, batting her out of the sky. When she pulled herself on to all four paws again, she left a stain of blood in the snow. “Betrayer of laguz! I’ll tear those black wings off your back!” she yowled.

His response came evenly from his black beak: “You Gallians are with Crimea, we with Daein. We’re both helping one side. I’d like you to tell me how that makes us betrayers.” He swept over her, just grazing her with his rear talons.

Soren was surprised by the proud cat’s response: “Crimea and Daein are not the same!”

“Oh, but they are.” Naesala rounded on her for a second attack. This time Lethe tried to grab onto him, but he had too much momentum and she was too weak. He threw her into the rock face she’d climbed a moment ago. “They’re both home to laguz-hunting, laguz-hating humans. Granted, Daein’s anti-laguz sentiment is more obvious, but—” he cawed in laughter “—surely you realize there’s no great difference between it, Crimea, or Begnion for that matter.”

Lethe struggled to her paws, but one foreleg looked bent, perhaps broken. “B-but…”

“You may think yourself a warrior, but the humans have tamed you. Allow me to open your _eyes!_ ” Naesala swept at her again, his talons heading straight for her face. Seeming to summon her last reserves of strength, she leapt to meet him. Her claws scrambled against his talons, but he quickly gained the upper hand, tipping her over and gouging at her underbelly.

“Ah!” she gasped before reverting her form and passing out. She was bleeding freely, and Soren heard Mist hiss nearby. Her pony was prancing nervously as she waited for an opening to charge in with her staff.

Soren knew he had to act now and give her that opening or Lethe would die. “Enjoying the show?” he asked the Begnion archers who’d ceased firing. The spattering of arrows began again. “Try not to hit me,” he warned as he passed them.

The Raven King’s glittering eyes appraised Soren as he circled overhead. He twisted to avoid the soldiers’ arrows as easily as a fish could change direction in water. It would have been mesmerizing if it wasn’t terrifying. “Black wings—among humans these are considered bad omens, are they not? Then take these omens as a fact, and let them herald you to the afterlife,” Naesala called, seeming to accept his new challenger.

Soren didn’t reply. He’d already begun chanting under his breath: “*Spirits of wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*” To his relief, a large cyclone started swirling overhead. It swept up the snow around it and grew faster and faster. Naesala flew awkwardly, managing to master gales that would have bested any other bird. But the storm’s sharp blades hadn’t hit him yet. Feeling the spell reach its climax, feeling it pull against the limits of his own ability, Soren gestured sharply at the king with his free hand, and sent the storm in from all directions.

Naesala dodged the first few blades, but the spell was too overwhelming. He couldn’t fly above or below it. The winds hit his wings with angry, slashing gales. Black feathers and blood swirled around and around in a torrent. Soren kept the spell going as long as he could, but he felt himself weakening with every second and eventually had to release the gales. When he did, Naesala’s body hit the ground hard.

Soren hesitated, his thumb already holding open a full page of unused Elwind spells. He wondered if he should—or even could—maintain a barrage. His hesitation was long enough. The laguz king stretched out his wings and beat them against the ground. One thrust was enough to launch him straight at Soren.

There was nothing he could do. He’d managed to bloody Naesala, but that was all. In retaliation, the crow’s razor-sharp talons dug deep into Soren’s abdomen—two rear talons straight into his gut, six front talons wedged between his ribs and wrapped around his sides. His feet left the ground, and he was flying backward. The pain in his stomach and chest was excruciating as he felt Naesala’s toes flex in his body. The wounds widened until he yanked them out, dropping Soren into a snowbank. He clamped his arms over the open wounds, curling into a fetal position, trying to keep the blood and pain inside. His breaths were labored hisses.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Raven King circling. He gritted his teeth, not knowing where his tome had fallen and too weak to move anyway. Naesala finally dove in for the kill, and Soren was disappointed to think that this was how he would die. He’d hoped to make it much longer than this, but there was no accounting for the unexpected presence of laguz kings in beorc wars. It felt unfair.

“Begone, crow!” rang Tanith’s clear voice. The austere Holy Guard flew overhead so closely that Soren was buffeted by her wingbeats. Her charge intercepted the Raven King, and he flapped in place, momentarily faltering.

Tanith didn’t hesitate. She held aloft a strange weapon infused with wind magic: a sonic sword. The enchanted blade was potent against winged beasts, and her mastery of the technique was remarkable. If Soren had known she possessed such skill with the arcane blade, he would have left the Raven King to her in the first place.

While her steed kept her just out of range of Naesala’s beak and talons, Tanith attacked from all angles with deadly wind blasts. Finally she got in close, jumped from her pegasus, and planted the sword just above Naesala’s heart. The King instantly reverted to his human form, twisting in place and spiraling downward. He ripped out the sword and threw Tanith from him.

Her pegasus caught her, and the sword landed in the snow. Naesala’s wings billowed out, slowing his decent. He hit the ground tumbling but had slowed himself enough not to die on impact. Extracting himself from ice and shale, he stood. His wings were shuddering and his back bent. With a hand tightly pressed against his wound, he muttered something inaudible. Then he rose into the sky once more and shouted over the battle: “To me, my brethren! We leave at once!” Word spread quickly among the ravens, and they all flew to their king. A moment later, they fled south.

Soren dared hope this meant Kilvas was abandoning Daein for good. The blood draining from his chest and stomach had soaked his arms, his clothes, and the snow, and all sensation had left his extremities. As he’d watched Naesala’s defeat, black spots had multiplied in his vision, and now they spread across it entirely. He was surprised he’d managed to stay awake this long, but he couldn’t any longer.

Soren especially hated abdominal wounds because of the mess. He was dimly aware being moved and stripped down, and then of someone’s hand submerged in his viscera to make sure everything was in the right place before healing could begin. He was jerked in and out of consciousness by the pain, but once the familiar green light filled his vision, he felt a little better. Then the vomiting, shitting, and shaking began, and he felt worse. This was not the first time he’d been stabbed in the stomach, but it was definitely the worst.

The healing took a long time, but once his system had been purged, the process was much more comfortable and easier to withstand. As he slipped into unconsciousness again, the pain was gone, and he was aware of nothing but unbearable thirst and cold.

When he next woke, he found he’d been moved from the triage tent to the recovery tent. His first thought was that it smelled better and was quieter here. He raised his head looking for water, and his surroundings settled in dizzying waves. Finding no immediate beverage, he raised a heavy arm and ran numb, clumsy fingers across his stomach and sides. Someone had dressed him in a smock, but underneath the skin was smooth and uninjured. His broken ribs were whole once more, and there was no sign of the eight puncture wounds other than stiff, itchy skin and a distinctly empty feeling.

“Soren, you’re awake!” Mist knelt at his bedside. “How are you feeling?” She felt his forehead for his temperature and took his pulse at his wrist.

“…Fine,” he answered, finding his tongue slow to respond. “Did you heal me?”

“Sure did!” She grinned proudly. “We brought you back here right away, and I fixed you up. How is it? Do you feel any pain anywhere?”

“No,” Soren answered. He had to admit the young girl was an exceptional healer. She looped a canteen off her shoulder and handed it to him, and now he was even more grateful. He drank until he had to breathe and then asked: “What of the battle?”

“It’s over. Brother is chasing off the remaining troops as we speak!”

Soren laid his head down in relief. “We won then.”

Mist nodded. “You should rest now. Watch out for a fever or any sign of infection in the next day or so. If you experience any pain, tell me right away.”

“I know the protocol,” Soren replied dismissively.

Mist smiled, unoffended. “Just doing my job!” she chirruped, and with that, she moved to another cot, where she helped a Begnion cleric force Lethe back into bed.

In addition to the cat-woman, Soren could see Zihark, Sothe, Makalov, Devdan, and numerous Begnion soldiers resting in here. This was the recovery tent, where everyone was alive, but he wondered how many people might be lying with cloaks or bloody sheets covering their faces outside. He knew today’s victory could only have been purchased with many lives, and yet he found himself hoping none of the mercenaries had died. He didn’t want Ike to be sad.

After sleeping for a couple hours, Soren left the infirmary camp and made his way to the vestiges of basecamp. Half of the wagons and supplies had already been moved to the village on the other side of Mondrega Pass, but fortunately his tent and possessions were still where he’d left them. Even better, it appeared someone had retrieved his wind tome and known to leave it on his cot. Finding it only slightly damp from the snow, Soren tucked it safely away. Then he changed into fresh robes and packed his bags. His winter cloak was ripped and blood-stained, but there was nothing he could do about it right now. So he merely pulled it on and tried to ignore the smell and the way the breeze pushed through the holes.

His next task was to report to Ike. This meant walking a considerable distance, because the commander was already leading efforts to take over the Daein base at the other end of the pass. As he walked slowly across the battlefield, Soren passed soldiers collecting dead bodies and lost weapons as well as those driving horses and carts to the new camp. He asked for news, and the soldiers reported that the village had been pacified, that Ike was negotiating for supplies and information, and that the Daein and Kilvan forces had left some useful things behind.

Some grumbled about being unable to simply take what they wanted from the villagers. Others expressed a desire to crawl into their nice warm beds instead of spending another night half-frozen in a tent. They moaned and chuckled to one another, talking about dragging soft Daein girls and boys into those beds with them, but Soren was fairly certain no one would act on their fantasies. After three months on the campaign, the soldiers respected Ike as their commander and knew which behaviors were strictly forbidden in his army.

When he finally arrived at the new campsite, Soren was pleased to see wagonloads of fresh food and blankets being distributed to the soldiers. He soon found Ike, who looked about as good as Soren felt—which was to say, corpse-like. There were dark rings under his eyes, which were bloodshot and twitchy. His skin was ashen, except for the tips of his ears, nose, and the tops of his cheeks which were red with cold. His lips were dry and cracked, and he was covered in scrapes and bruises he clearly hadn’t bothered to have healed. He hadn’t changed his clothes or removed his armor, which was torn and pitted. He was blood-stained and smelled like death.

“We won…somehow,” was his somber greeting when he finally saw Soren assessing him.

“Somehow,” Soren agreed.

Before he could ask for an update or offer to make himself useful so Ike could take a break, Elincia trotted up to them. Her heavy leather boots were incongruous with her gown and white fur coat, making her appear ungainly and childish. “My lord Ike!” she beamed. “I’m so pleased to see you well. You haven’t been injured, have you?” She didn’t show the slightest disgust at the sight or smell of human offal covering him from head to toe. In fact, her eyes raced over Ike’s body in a way that made Soren’s skin crawl.

“I’m fine,” Ike replied, clearly flattered by her gaze. His cheeks reddened, and Soren supposed it was at least a good sign he wasn’t completely anemic after the battle. 

“Oh, that’s good…” The princess seemed suddenly lost for words and blushed herself. The pair stared at each other for several moments, and Soren felt forgotten. The relationship between princess and mercenary had hardly developed since their first meeting, and these bouts of mutual staring were becoming quite intolerable. Luckily Titania’s arrival interrupted them.

“Ike, Soren, may I have a word? And if you don’t mind, Princess Elincia, would you come as well? Please join me in that building.” Titania wore an odd expression as she pointed to the simple, windowless shed at the corner of the camp.

When they arrived, they found the shed filled with crates, bags, boxes, stacks, and sheer piles of gold. Ike and Elincia were both dumbstruck.

“Incredible, no?” Titania breathed in awe. “It’s gold. All of it.”

“Daein must be filthy rich!” Ike finally exclaimed. “There’s so much, it doesn’t even seem real. What do we do with it?”

Soren decided he’d better speak up before any of them could propose something ridiculous, such as giving it away or leaving it here because stealing was ‘wrong’. “It’s the spoils of war,” he said, “So naturally, it’s ours to spend as we see fit.”

An idea seemed to suddenly occur to Ike. “In that case, I’d like to borrow fifty-thousand. Would that be all right?”

“That is a lot of money. What are you planning to do?” Titania asked curiously, but Soren already knew. As the company’s accountant, he remembered that amount distinctly: the fee for Volke’s alleged intelligence. Now they finally had the resources to hear Greil’s mysterious report.

“It’s, uh, a private matter…” Ike hedged, and Soren was surprised to realize his friend wanted to meet with Volke alone.

 _I_ _f the intelligence is valuable to the company, Ike will come to me about it,_ he assured himself, and yet he wasn’t entirely reassured.

“I apologize, Commander. You’re not a child. There’s no reason for me to pry,” Titania seemed embarrassed, although she’d said nothing wrong.

“My Lord Ike, please use this gold for the mercenary company,” Elincia declared, successfully changing the subject. “Until now, I haven’t had the resources to adequately pay them. So please…”

“No, if I may borrow the fifty-thousand that will be more than-” Ike tried to refuse.

Soren was about to intervene, but Titania beat him to it: “You won’t borrow it, you’ll accept it!” she said pointedly. “And in good faith. The remainder we’ll give to Soren for company maintenance. Would that be all right, Princess Elincia?” Soren was relieved that at least someone understood the necessity of money to their little army.

“Yes, of course,” Elincia replied gracefully. She glanced at Soren with a smile. Soren didn’t return the expression.

After helping him adjust some boxes to create a narrow work station, Titania was the first to leave. There was still much to do moving the troops through the pass. Taking one last look at the gold, Ike left too. “Good luck,” he wished Soren, before bowing politely to Elincia.

To Soren’s annoyance, the princess lingered. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asked, pulling a leather folio onto the crate serving as his desk. He poured out the contents: papers, brushes, inkstones, and a small abacus. He began sorting through the documents, hoping to find a single manifest that would help with the process. But several of the papers were blank, and the rest were a mess. This would take a while.

Elincia hadn’t responded, but neither had she left. Soren glanced at the hem of her dress beyond the crate. It was worn but not particularly dirty after months on the road. He considered the fact that she must take care of her appearance, even out here in the middle of nowhere, and wondered if it was for Ike’s sake. He then berated himself for such irrelevant thoughts and returned his attention to the papers.

“You don’t like me, do you?” she eventually said. Her voice sounded more resigned than accusing, but neither did she sound sorry for herself.

Surprised, Soren slid his gaze back to her, now looking at the inside of her left elbow. “I don’t like anyone,” he replied, “Now I have work to do.” He was being even ruder than usual, and he knew it. But he was exhausted from the battle, and having his stomach ripped open by a giant bird hadn’t put him in the most patient mood.

“I could help you,” Elincia suggested, adding more quietly: “I’m not completely useless.”

Soren’s gaze moved to her chin. It wasn’t quivering and didn’t look uncertain, but neither was it prideful. “I work better on my own.” He screwed up his eyes to read the mostly smudged, crossed-out-and-written-over document more closely. But he was distracted by the fact that Elincia had yet to leave. He’d read the same cluster of words three times in a row when a sudden scraping sound seized his attention. Elincia was pulling a box to the other side of the table, and Soren had to admit she was stronger than she looked—that box was likely packed full of gold. He looked at her arm again, which was tight against the sleeve of her dress. He wondered if she’d been training on her own, or had life on the road been enough to harden her.

Soren ignored her, because he was not one to repeat himself.

“I was educated by the best tutors in Melior,” she declared suddenly. “Please, allow me to assist you.” She didn’t sound hesitant anymore, and this didn’t sound like a request.

Soren sighed and pushed half the papers across the table. He didn’t have to look at her to catch her smile “We’re looking for a manifest, if there is one, or any clue to the organization of this storehouse.”

“Understood.”

The shed descended into silence and stillness, which was only broken by the rusting of paper and the flickering of the candles illuminating their work. The candelabra had been part of the trove, and the light glanced off all the gold, making the room glow the color of honey.

“It appears these funds and artifacts were acquired from all over Daein,” Elincia said after a while. Her voice was solemn. “They were procured for the war effort. Do you think it was meant to be a payment for Kilvas’s aid?”

“That is possible.” Soren set down his papers. “Well, there is nothing to do now but count it.”

She nodded resolutely. “Shall I start on the north side, and you the south?”

“Is that an order?”

Elincia seemed suddenly embarrassed. “Do you resent my authority?”

In truth, it didn’t bother him; she was doing her part in this war—no more, no less. He was just tired and easily annoyed. Sighing, he shook his head. “North and south it is.” He stood and stretched before moving to the back of the shed. Choosing a box arbitrarily, he unlatched the cover.

Elincia moved to her other side, but she didn’t open any of the crates. After settling herself down, she spoke again. “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, “where were you educated?”

Soren bristled and said nothing—as he often did when asked a personal question. It happened so rarely he’d almost forgotten the intrusive feeling. These days, everyone he associated with either didn’t care about his past or knew it was pointless to ask about it. (Apparently after spending over a year with the mercenaries, Elincia had somehow missed the memo.)

Noticing his lack of a response, the princess added, “I mean, you are quite young to be the accountant of a mercenary company, let alone chief strategist. Surely you were trained by someone.”

“Ike is young to be a general. You are young to be queen of Crimea,” Soren returned, wanting to end the discussion quickly.

“But General Ike was trained by Sir Greil, wasn’t he?” She didn’t say anything about herself, but Soren already knew she’d spent her entire life being molded into a future regent. “Did Greil train you as well?”

Frustrated, Soren glared at the box in front of him, wishing he could begin the mindless task of counting rather than having this pointless conversation with the princess. He considered ignoring her, but she was the mercenaries’ employer and had a right to know their credentials. “For a time, I was apprenticed to a retired sage in the Crimean Army, and I studied some years at a temple. After that, I joined the Greil Mercenaries. I learned on the job. If you have a problem with my qualifications, you can bring it up with Ike.”

“Oh I didn’t mean that at all!” she replied quickly, embarrassed again.

“We should probably get to work,” he said before she could ask any more questions.

“Yes, of course.” Silence descended, and all was still save for the shuffling of their hands, the clinking of coins, the scurrying of quills across parchment.

Soren expected the princess to give up after the first hour. Every time he heard her yawn (and inevitably yawned himself) he thought she would turn in for the night. But the hours stretched on, and she remained. The guard changed outside. New candles and fresh rolls of paper were brought in. Elincia called for food and drink, and when it arrived, Soren was surprised to see she consumed the same swill as the rest of the army.

When they needed to spread out, Soren ordered one of the convoy wagons emptied, and they filled it with the boxes they’d already counted. This created more space, and it was a necessary step anyway. They would have to send almost the entire trove to Begnion so it could be exchanged for paper credits. They simply couldn’t carry so much gold with them.

When all of this was done, Soren staved off sleep to search for Ike. But unable to find him anywhere, he eventually sought Titania instead. “He turned in for the night shortly after meeting with Volke,” she explained, and Soren had to admit his tent was the last place he would have checked.

“It’s good that he is finally getting some rest.”

“You should too,” encouraged Titania, but Soren wasn’t ready to retire yet.

“Did Ike say anything?” he asked, “Was Volke’s intelligence worth the investment?”

“No, but he seemed…” Titania shook her head.

“How did he seem?”

“I don’t know what Volke could have said,” she explained somberly, “but Ike, he was…in pain.”

Soren’s gaze fell on Ike’s tent in the distance, and he resisted the urge to run over there right now. Whatever it was, he had to be patient. “Ike is strong,” he finally said. “Whatever news or insight Volke offered, I am sure he will come to terms with it.” 

“I feel the same,” Titania offered simply, but she was clearly worried too.

The company took the following day to recover from the grueling battle. This meant healing, resting, scouting, and continuing to soothe the scared villagers whom they now neighbored. Ike said he wanted to see the company moving again by the day after next, but the decree didn’t have his heart in it. All day he’d seemed distracted, pensive, and even lost.

His condition didn’t improve as the afternoon wore on, and Soren was becoming increasingly frustrated. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore and brought his concerns to Ike directly. (It may have been rude, but Ike had once said he wanted him to speak his mind.) “Do you plan on sharing Volke’s report with the rest of us?” he demanded. “That money was to be used for the good of the company. Was his intelligence useful or not?”

Ike look of shock eventually faded into resignation. “You’re right,” he conceded. “I should at least tell you and Titania.” They were alone in the strategy tent, and the nearest guard was stationed out of earshot. He waited for more. “…Soren, my father…killed my mother.”

He didn’t have to pretend to be surprised. Although he’d witnessed the horror firsthand, he’d never expected this to be the information Volke was carrying. As the surprise passed, Soren felt a growing excitement. Ever since that day, he’d desperately wanted an explanation for the impossible things he’d seen. Perhaps those answers were finally within reach. He didn’t say anything, and eventually Ike collected his thoughts enough to continue.

He spoke as if in a trance: “Volke wasn’t hired to investigate anything. He lied about that. He was hired as an assassin. He was supposed to kill my father if he ever went berserk again. That’s what he was being paid for…”

“You say ‘berserk’,” Soren replied carefully. “I assume he did not intend to kill her?” The memories of that day returned sharp and clear to his mind, and he struggled to keep his old fear under control. His hands were slick with sweat, and he couldn’t help but think it felt like blood.

Ike shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Did Volke offer an explanation as to what could cause a man like Commander Greil to lose his mind?”

Ike nodded. “You might not believe it.”

“I will believe it if you do,” he returned. After seeing the speed, strength, and bloodlust the otherwise reasonable mortal man had displayed, there was not much Soren would reject as a potential explanation. But he couldn’t tell Ike this.

“Lehran’s Medallion,” he finally answered.

Soren recalled the pendant that had fallen from Elena’s hand that day. At the time, he’d wondered how a piece of jewelry could have been connected to the horrific episode. And since rejoining the mercenaries, he’d never quite gotten used to seeing the simple bronze circle hanging from Mist’s neck. “Your sister’s medallion…”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“A lucky guess,” he lied. Even if Ike knew the truth now, he didn’t need to know Soren had been keeping it from him for years.

“Volke said it is an evil object. Most people would go mad just by touching it. But not Mist…or my mom. Volke said it was an accident when Father…”

“How can such an enchanted object exist?” Soren asked, hoping for a better explanation.

“It’s what’s inside the medallion that’s the problem,” Ike answered. “It’s a prison. For a dark god.”

“A dark god?” Soren repeated.

Ike shook his head. “I knew you wouldn’t believe it.”

Soren recalled the massacre, specifically the strange haze that had surrounded Greil, making him almost unrecognizable. Could that have been the aura of some sort of god? “I believe it,” he finally said. “I suppose now the question is: why would your parents hold onto such a dangerous artifact?”

Ike seemed relieved that Soren was willing to believe him. “Volke had an explanation for that too,” he answered. “I guess they were trying to stop it from getting into the wrong hands—Daein’s hands.” Ike scuffed the ground at his feet. “This is where they lived before I was born… I never knew.”

Soren remembered Elena’s suspicion the first night they’d met, not because he was Branded, but because he’d said he was from Daein. He recalled Caineghis’s suspicion that Greil and Elena had been fugitives. The pieces were finally fitting into place.

But what Ike said next was still a surprise: “’Greil’ wasn’t even my father’s real name. It was Gawain. He was called ‘Sir Gawain’…of the Four Riders.”

“He served King Ashnard?” Soren repeated.

Ike shrugged. “Not for long. He and my mom ran away with the medallion. Ashnard has been after it ever since. He sent assassins, and they finally found them. We were living in this little Crimean village at the time.”

 _I remember_ , Soren wanted to say, but he bit his tongue.

“That’s when it happened. That’s when he accidentally touched it. He killed the assassins, and half the town was caught in the crossfire, and my mom…”

Soren wished he could tell Ike how bravely Elena had died. She had thrown herself on Greil’s blade to reach the medallion, to break the spell. Soren could see that now. He wondered if Volke had known to include that part of the story.

“He slashed the tendons in his right hand,” Ike said after a few moments, drawing Soren’s attention back to the present, “so he could never wield a blade properly again. At least, not in his style. Not in real combat.”

“That sounds prudent of him.”

“It’s why he died.” Ike’s voice was low. “That day in Gallia, the Black Knight was looking for the medallion. He gave Father a sword to fight with, but he wouldn’t wield it. Maybe if he’d been able to… If he’d been able to, I know he would have defeated the Black Knight.”

“It is a waste of energy to ponder what could have been,” Soren said, hoping that would console him. “Furthermore, Greil did not die of an old wound to his hand, but because the Black Knight came looking for the medallion. It is that vile bit of bronze that caused this.”

“You’re right,” Ike sighed. “Lehran’s Medallion stole both my parents’ lives. But I can’t destroy it. I’m sure my father would have found a way if that were possible… So I will protect it in their stead. I won’t let it fall into the wrong hands, and I won’t let anyone touch it. I won’t let what happened to me and Mist happened to anyone else,” he finished resolutely.

“A sound course of action,” Soren agreed. “I suggest you keep the medallion’s existence a secret. Tell Titania, and the three of us will include the protection of the artifact in our duties. However, I suggest you not mention it to anyone else—not Princess Elincia, Captain Nasir, nor any of your friends.”

“I know.” Ike nodded.

Soren hesitated a moment, adding in a quieter voice: “And promise me you will never touch it yourself.”

Ike winced as if remembering an old wound. “Father always told me I wasn’t to touch it. Now I know why.”

“Ike, promise me. You must be careful.”

“Of course,” he finally answered: “I promise. Like I said, I never want that happening to anyone else.”

 _And I never want to see you in as much pain as I saw Greil that day,_ Soren thought. The violence, the rage, the chaos, and then the blanketing grief—it was a wonder Greil had survived. Soren would die before he let Ike go through the same thing.

“Thanks for listening, Soren,” Ike finally said.

“I suppose knowing we have a dark god in our possession is worth fifty-thousand gold,” was all he said in reply.


	3. CHAPTER 34: TALREGA

The Crimea Liberation Army continued northeast through the winter months. The Daein winter was raw and brutal; ice and snow scraped over the nation, leaving frozen scars. The invading army left similar scars in their wake: graves, grief, bloodied and burnt earth. Slowly they progressed, winning victory after victory.

Soren did his best to take them by the safest roads, but traps, ambushes, and hidden armies were waiting wherever they turned. Ike and the company could sometimes turn these situations to their advantage by gaining victory and then intimidating the nearest town’s militia or fort’s garrison into surrender, but more often than not, they were just a hindrance.

Three months after the battle of Mondrega Pass, the army neared the Daein stronghold of Talrega. Wyverns had nested here since time out of mind, making it home to countless generations of Daein’s best dracoknights—including the Liberation Army’s own Jill Fizzart. In fact, she was the chieftain’s daughter. She was embarrassed (and clearly nervous) when she reminded Ike of this fact: “I can’t tell you not to go there… But you should know it’s my home,” she said. “I’ll follow you, and fight, if need be.”

In return, he fussed over her emotional stability as they neared Talrega, checking in with her at least once a day. Soren wished these were tactical meetings meant to get the lay of the land, but he knew Ike was just lending a sympathetic ear while she reminisced. 

After careful consideration, Soren advised they avoid the stronghold—but in no way was this to spare Jill’s feelings. It was simply too dangerous to challenge Daein dracoknights on their own turf (or skies, as it were). He knew there was a spy embedded in the Liberation Army, which meant Talrega would be fortified and well prepared for whatever attack he devised.

Ike wasn’t fond of backing away from a fight, let alone leaving them open for a pursuit, but he agreed with Soren’s assessment without too much convincing. Perhaps his chats with Jill had softened his heart toward these people, or perhaps the ambush at Antonin this morning was finally forcing him to think more cautiously.

That being said, Ike made no mention of the fact that Daein appeared to be operating with a steady stream of reliable information they shouldn’t possess. During their meeting, Soren had managed to communicate the danger without explicitly pointing out this fact, nor the possibility of a spy within their ranks—but he’d had this detail ready as a last resort. When Ike agreed with little protest, Soren tucked the damning accusation away again.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t go quietly. He was awake most of the night debating whether to accuse Nasir (and risk the dragon exposing himself in turn) or allowing him to continue to leak information to Daein and put all of their lives at risk. In the end, when he finally allowed himself to fall into an uneasy sleep, he’d settled on a compromise: he would draw Ike’s attention to the existence of a spy. But he wouldn’t name Nasir. Not yet.

In the morning, while everyone was dismantling the tents and packing the wagons, Soren reported to Ike’s quarters. “I trust you’ve realized the forces at Antonin were waiting for us yesterday,” Soren dove right in. “It was no accident they were positioned there.” He didn’t care who overheard. In fact, a bit of mild rumor-mongering might help his case. At least then Ike couldn’t ignore it.

The young general, who’d been helping dismantle his tent, handed his rope off to a subordinate and gave Soren his attention (or some semblance of it). They walked away from the laboring soldiers, but Ike’s eyes roamed the deconstruction efforts. “Sure, it was a hard fight,” he said disinterestedly, “but we made it through.”

“The past battles have all been the same. This can only mean one thing: the enemy knows exactly how and when we are going to move. With your permission, I’ll begin an investigation to see if there’s anyone suspicious among the troops… Ike?” He could tell he wasn’t listening. He was watching soldiers loading bundled weapons onto a carriage, and it was obvious he’d rather help with the physical labor than be here talking to Soren about such unsavory things. “Ike? Are you alright?” he asked, though he knew the answer. Ike had been stressed for weeks—no to mention distracted and exhausted. The truth of Lehran’s Medallion weighed heavily on his mind.

“Hm? Oh, yes…” Ike shook his head. “Sorry.” He turned to face him. “What is it?”

Soren’s voice caught in his throat, and he found he’d suddenly lost his nerve. Ike wouldn’t believe he’d been betrayed until he had incontrovertible proof, and he wouldn’t sew distrust with an inquiry. He trusted too easily, and too deeply. “Nothing. I was just giving you the standard update,” Soren lied. “Shall I put it off until later?”

“No.” Ike shook his head. “Sorry, but can you start over from the beginning? I’ll pay attention this time.”

“Understood.” Soren set about mentally preparing the report he hadn’t intended to give quite yet, but he was saved by Titania trotting over to them.

She dismounted with a wide grin. “Good morning, you two! What’s wrong, Ike? You look so sleepy.” Grabbing his chin in one hand, she turned his face left and right like a concerned mother.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.” Ike pulled his head back and gently pushed her arm away. “I meant to sleep last night, but I was up thinking. Before I knew it, it was morning.”

“Really?” Titania chuckled, obviously trying to spread her pleasant mood. “I never thought I’d hear that—Ike didn’t sleep because he was thinking. I wonder if Soren will start being polite?” No one was laughing with her, and she soon retired her efforts with a sigh and wave of her hand.

Soren wondered if her exceedingly positive attitude the past couple months was nothing but a delusion to distract herself from the truth of Greil and Elena. She’d been dazed for almost a week after hearing Volke’s story, making it clear Greil had never shared it with her despite her years of devotion and loyalty. Then the exuberance had begun.

“Listen, Titania…” Ike began, “Can I just-” Apparently he wanted to talk to her about something, and Soren could only hope it was to censure her for excessive merriment.

Unfortunately, he was cut off by Mist barreling over. “Brother!” she cried, obviously distraught. “Ike!” Her face was red, and tears trailed from her eyes to her ears as she ran. She charged straight into Ike, nearly knocking him down, and squeezed him tightly around the chest. “What am I going to do, Ike? My medallion’s gone!” she sobbed. At almost fifteen years old, Mist had witnessed more pain and bloodshed in her lifetime than most adults. And yet she’d never fallen to pieces like she did now.

“What! It’s gone?” Ike seized Mist by the shoulders to stare intently into her wet eyes.

“No!” Titania’s hands flew to her mouth.

“What am I going to do? It was my only memento of Mother.” Mist shook her head back and forth. Of course, she didn’t understand the real horror behind the lost artifact.

Ike was frantic. “Did you drop it? Or put it somewhere and forget? Something like that?”

“No, I always carry it with me!” Mist assured, patting her chest where she wore it under her blouse. “I would never lose it! I had it before I went to bed last night. It vanished while I was sleeping!”

“Don’t cry,” Ike ordered, his panic sudden checked by his resolve. “It’s not your fault.”

“But- but…” She wiped her eyes.

“I said don’t cry! I’ll find it, alright?” Ike promised with fists clenched.

“Al…right… Sorry,” she said between sniffles.

Ike, Titania, and Mist scrambled off, asking everyone they met if they’d seen a medallion and telling them to keep an eye out for it—but not to touch it—if they found it. The strangeness of this command was not lost on the confused troops.

Soren hesitated a moment before following, and he ordered his thoughts while he walked. Nasir had betrayed them. Of this Soren had no doubt. It was possible he’d been after the medallion since the beginning, and Soren cursed himself for not suspecting this. After all, it was a powerful item that could be used against them in this war.

Soren searched halfheartedly, knowing he wouldn’t find it but pretending for his friend’s sake. Ike ordered the entire camp to be unpacked and repacked again. The contents of each wagon were unloaded onto the ground. Every tent canvas and bedroll was shaken out and refolded. Each soldier had their own pack searched by a comrade. Their stores of grain, rice, and flour were sifted and stirred, and every water bladder and canteen was shaken to be sure it contained no solid objects. They wasted the whole day, and by evening it was undeniable that Lehran’s Medallion had not only been stolen but also ferried far away.

That evening Ike fell into a dejected stupor. His frenzied, illogical behavior had his troops doubting his leadership for the first time since the campaign had begun, and this was unacceptable. Soren was scheming to give Ike a brutally honest pep-talk and bring him back to his senses, but before he could, the arrival of a stranger did that for that for him.

A beautiful woman traipsed into their camp just after sundown. She introduced herself as Calill, claiming to be a Crimean civilian who’d been traveling in Daein before war had broken out. Apparently she’d been trapped here ever since. Soren observed her closely and tried to decide whether she was telling the truth. She had long yellow hair, which she tied into a bun with a ribbon. From her ears dangled silver hoops, and brass circlets tinkled around her wrists and ankles. She wore a carnation pink shirt and matching skirt, and across her chest and over her hips bounced parallel strands of shimmering, gold-plated coins. She looked like a street performer, or perhaps a belly dancer from Culbert. But she spoke with a Melior accent, and Ike seemed to believe her story.

Soren decided to trust her as well, because he doubted Daein would send a spy so eccentrically dressed. (And surely Daein couldn’t get a spy better than the one they already had: Nasir, who’d been missing all day). Welcoming the woman had the added benefit of reminding Ike of his duties as general. Not only did Calill want to travel with them, she also wanted to fight beside them, claiming to be a talented fire mage. Ike was forced to forget the medallion as he helped her get settled.

After this, he walked among his troops and spoke with them informally. He announced they’d be staying here another night and that double rations would be distributed as a reward for their hard work and patience. Soren was not a fan of coddling, but this seemed an effective solution. The soldiers cheered for their general, shared boisterous stories, and accepted the extra rest.

In the evening, Soren, Ike, and Titania met again and admitted they could do about the Lehran’s Medallion for now. They had to keep moving forward.

“My lord Ike, were you able to find Mist’s missing pendant?” Elincia asked as they marched the next day.

“No. It’s gone. I fear that Daein may have stolen it somehow.” Ike didn’t bother hiding his frustration from the princess.

“What? Is such a thing possible?” she asked, and Soren detected underlying skepticism. 

“I don’t know to what degree, but there can be no questioning Daein’s involvement,” assured Ike.

Soren wished he could explain Nasir’s betrayal, which seemed even more obvious now that the dragon hadn’t been seen since the day before yesterday. But no one was suspicious of his prolonged absence. To Soren’s chagrin, Nasir had become one of their main points of contact with Begnion, and he sometimes travelled a day behind them, coordinating their supply route, before catching back up. Ike believed Nasir was off completing some important duty, which would seem more like an alibi than damning evidence to his mind. 

“Is the medallion…special?” Elincia asked hesitantly.

“Yes… Oh yes.” His eyes grew distant, and his brows knitted together a stitch.

The princess blushed. “I beg your pardon.”

“What is it?” Ike asked in confusion.

“My question may have touched a sensitive area.”

“Oh, no.” Ike shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to discuss it with you personally. I just can’t really talk about it with anyone. It’s a private matter.” Soren was relieved he was still willing to keep this secret from the princess. He had feared the theft would loosen his tongue.

“I see,” she replied with a graceful nod.

The sound of wings drew their attention to the two hawk laguz. “Ike!” called Ulki urgently. He and his counterpart landed beside them.

“What is it, Ulki?” Ike seemed wary of more bad news.

“I hear the sound of rushing water just ahead. A lot of it.”

“Rushing water?” Ike repeated in confusion.

“According to the map, there’s a large river up ahead,” Soren offered. Ice melt would be coming down from the mountains now that it was spring. The river could be swollen, but Soren doubted such a thing would have alarmed the keen-eared hawk.

Ike was more optimistic. “That must be what you hear.”

Ulki shook his head. “This is unnatural, warped. It is not the sound of a normal river.”

Before anyone could debate the sound further, a scout came galloping toward them. “General Ike!” He pulled his horse to a sharp stop. “Sir, we’ve got trouble! The road ahead is blocked by water!”

“What? How can that be?” Elincia exclaimed.

“Perhaps a local river has flooded?” the soldier suggested. He shook his head. “The whole region is soaking wet!”

Ike seemed to gather his resolve. “Is the road completely impassable?”

“No, sir!” the soldier replied, “We can move forward, but the water’s turned the ground to mud. And it is still flowing at a tremendous rate, sir! This is going to cut back our speed dramatically.”

Soren felt it was his responsibility to explain that this was no mere a twist of fate. “This is the work of Daein,” he declared firmly. “They thought to impede our progress in order to gain some time for themselves. And they’ve succeeded.” It was a cruel plan—but effective. The damage to the land would be considerable, but it gave the Daein army an advantage.

“Is there nothing we can do?” Titania turned to him, and there was fire in her eyes.

“Well…” Soren thought a moment. “If they were able to flood the road only when we approached, and with a controlled, continuous release, there must be floodgates in the area.”

“So if we can close them, we’ll shut off the flow of water, right?” Ike didn’t wait for an answer. “That makes sense! Let’s get some scouts looking for those gates,” he ordered, and the soldier saluted and cantered off.

“What’s that?” Janaff pushed past Ulki. “Hey, if you’re looking for something, leave it to me. I _am_ the Hawk King’s eyes, after all! These peepers of mine can see for miles and miles. It would be a shame not to use them.”

“Hey, I get it.” Ike smiled. “You’re a hawk with the eyes of a hawk!”

Janaff seemed pleased to have lightened the tension in his general’s heart. “It beats your fantastic wit! My eyesight isn’t a racial ability, it’s just my own natural talent. Heck, my pal Ulki has ears that can hear grass growing on the other side of the country.” Soren recalled the time Lethe had claimed the ability to cross all of Gallia in a single bound. He was tempted to say something out of irritation, but then he saw Ike’s smile broaden. Janaff was cheering him up.

“I see,” Ike laughed. “Well then, the job’s yours. Do you think you can find the floodgates?”

“I just look for some openings with a lot of water pouring out, right? Yeah, I can handle that!” He immediately beat his wings and took to the sky, where he transformed and sailed away.

While Janaff searched, Ike had the army prepare for battle and begin marching upriver. Soren was dismayed that they were now venturing into Talrega, and he realized the flood was a two-way trap. On one hand, the army could have chosen to cross, wasted days of travel, and come out on the other side soaked, frozen, and exhausted. It would risk the hooves of their horses and the wheels of their wagons. On the other hand, they could head into Talrega to stop the flow of water and face an army there.

Janaff returned shortly and conveyed the location of the floodgates and the best route to get to them. Unfortunately, they stood just beyond the cliff-perched city that had served as the capital of Talrega for generations. Janaff reported three thousand ground troops and two thousand dracoknights. The Liberation Army hadn’t boasted such numbers since Tor Garen. They now possessed only thirty-five hundred soldiers, only two hundred and fifty of which were Tanith’s airborne unit. They would be outnumbered, and Daein would dominate the skies.

And yet, they had no choice but to seize Talrega Castle and close the floodgates. To continue now would mean being beset by the wyvern army while knee-deep in the mudflats. No strategy would save them then.

“So those are the floodgates,” Ike said when they came within view. The city sprawled up a winding, rocky slope, and dracoknights circled in the sky above. Perched on the highest cliff was Talrega Castle, and in the canyon beside it were the partially open floodgates, a massive cascade, and a roaring river.

“If we can get them closed, the water will recede in about twelve hours or so,” Soren estimated.

“Alright, let’s get going!” Ike gestured for the company to resume its march.

Lady Fizzart was staying at the temporary basecamp with Princess Elincia, the convoy, and a handful of guards, because Ike refused to force her to fight her family and friends. But Jill had wanted to do her part to secure as easy a victory as possible, and before they’d departed, she’d sat down with Ike and Soren and hastily relayed all she knew about the city’s fortifications. She even described a handful of ways to reach the castle.

Jill’s insight plus Nasir’s absence meant Soren could devise a strategy the Talregans wouldn’t see coming, and that was the Liberation Army’s only hope. Upon his instruction, Ike selected special troops to comprise three small regiments. These would take ancient footpaths around the mountain (and in one case, through the mountain) to broadside the Talregan army at critical junctures. Meanwhile, the main force would fight their way up the main boulevard, using a unique series of horn blows to signal when these regiments should break cover and support them. Volke was attached to one as a scout, and Sothe another. Titania would be leading the largest and most valuable regiment, which should appear in the back of an old cemetery and reunite with the main force at the city square, where Soren predicted the battle would become most concentrated.

The last key to this strategy was Tanith’s regiment of pegasus knights, who would keep the dracoknights distracted even if they couldn’t defeat them in straight combat. The Holy Guards were far outnumbered, but they had Ulki and Janaff fighting beside them and Reyson lending support with his fortifying galdr. Meanwhile Ilyana would lead a phalanx of Begnion mages in their shadow, weakening the wyverns with lightning.

Soren had enough skill with thunder magic to join them, but he deployed himself at his commander’s side in this battle. He and the rest of the Greil Mercenaries would charge with Ike in the vanguard, and they would be the first to taste blood.

After defeating the outer sentries, they burned their way through the palisades at the base of the mountain. Here the region was stacked with fields and gardens that crawled up the mountain like giant steps. Soldiers were waiting for them, and the Liberation Army spread out where they were able.

Ike, meanwhile, pushed up the main road, which was staggered with sandbag barricades and spiky wooden chevaux-de-frise. With him in the lead, the army’s surged forward and hardly lost momentum at these obstacles. 

Before long, they came to the training grounds for the Talregan Guard and the wyvern landing strips, which made excellent terrain for open battle. Masses of Daein army regulars had been deployed here, and the Begnion soldiers proudly demonstrated what they believed to be their military’s superior discipline as they maintained and executed their attack formations.

Beyond these fields, the land narrowed into a single passage. It led to the upper districts but was blocked by a stone wall whose gate was closed tight and whose battlements were fitted with Daein archers. Luckily Jill had warned Soren of this control valve and its weakness. Rather than throwing themselves futilely at the iron portcullis, they merely had to keep the archers distracted (and arrows deflected) while someone climbed the cliff face on the eastern side. Thanks to a rockslide some years ago, anyone with sufficient balance and a long reach could ascend the rocks, mount the battlements, and open the gate.

Ike gave this task to Lethe, who’d proven herself an excellent climber in the past. Behind her was Zihark and Stefan, both of whom had volunteered to support her. Zihark looked as comfortable as a mountain goat, and Stefan was surprisingly surefooted for someone who lived in the desert. Meanwhile, Soren and the few mages not on wyvern-duty wove a wall of wind to swipe the arrows out of the air before they could hit the climbers. Since they were unable to protect themselves, Gatrie and Brom sheltered them with their wide shields. Meanwhile, Shinon, Rolf, Astrid, and thirty other archers were returning fire.

For a few tense moments, Soren feared they couldn’t possibly hold the barrage long enough. He feared his tongue would betray him, he would miss a word, and Lethe would die. Even if he didn’t botch a spell, all it would take was one arrow finding its way through the wind shield. And at the last moment, one did. She’d just made it to the final ledge, where she transformed and prepared to spring. The arrow found her back paw, but it was too late to stop her jumping. With a shocked yowl, she leapt high and landed clumsily on the stone rampart.

The nearest archers immediately turned to fire on her, but even with a limp, Lethe was fast. She darted into their ranks, keeping low. She slashed at their legs, and from Soren’s point of view, soldiers dropped below the parapet, not to rise again.

“Lethe! Lethe! Lethe!” Mia chanted nearby, raising her sword with each cheer. Others quickly took it up, and when Zihark and Stefan finally joined the cat on the battlements, the chant turned into a wordless cheering. Devdan and some of the Begnion soldiers even tried to make it up the rocks themselves, but their heavy armor unbalanced them. When the archers were all dead, Zihark and Stefan pushed their weight into the wheel that hoisted the portcullis, and soon the Liberation Army could advance.

Daein soldiers were awaiting them on the road ahead, and fighting immediately resumed. The pass widened, and they entered the city’s poorest district. The side streets were narrow and filled with debris, but fighting spilled into them nonetheless. This was where the first ancillary regiment united with the main force—spilling out of a narrow woodland glade in the north. The Daein forces were surprised to find their enemies already in the city with them, and their surprise turned to fear and hesitation. Ike used this to push them into a retreat. 

As they moved into the district for tradesmen and artisans, the terrain steepened sharply. Here the streets were clogged with ebon soldiers, but the Liberation Army thinned them. Soon, the second ancillary regiment appeared, crawling out of a crevasse that led to Talrega’s derelict iron mines. This time, they worked together in a pincer maneuver to execute the unlucky Daeins caught in the middle.

The Liberation Army kept moving up the mountain, with Ike urging them on. The mercenaries had fought many uphill battles before, but none so literally as this. They could rarely gain any high ground to use against their enemies, and even when they did, the dracoknights made it irrelevant. Whatever defensible position they managed to take was either foiled by the wyverns or vacated anyway as they inevitably had to climb higher.

According to Jill’s intelligence, the dracoknights were likely led by a certain ‘Captain Haar’: her father’s right hand, the commander of the Talregan Guard, her former captain during the invasion, and her childhood friend. She warned that he was experienced, creative, and not to be underestimated.

However, Tanith had proven herself equal to the task of keeping him distracted. The pegasi kept the majority of the wyverns occupied, and those who tried to attack the main column were shot down by the regiment of archers clustered behind the frontlines. Shinon was always there, shooting precisely-aimed arrows between the armored plates of wyvern and rider alike. When he or another archer managed to send one spiraling to the ground, the infantry troops would swiftly hack them to bits.

With the aerial unite thus engaged, Soren and Ike had been able to focus their attention on the ground troops, which were led by Jill’s father: General Shiharam Fizzart. The man didn’t join the battle himself, but he relayed orders from his vantage point on the castle steps. Once tiny and distant, Talrega Castle now loomed over them, and if he squinted hard enough, Soren could even see the chieftain and his large, oddly purple-hued wyvern watching them.

When they reached the main square in the ritziest part of town, the pitch of the battle rose to a crescendo. Daein soldiers closed in on all sides, attempting to cut Ike and the head of the army off from the tail, which was still making its way up the main boulevard. It was a well-orchestrated pinching maneuver, and the dracoknights abandoned their battle with the pegasi to dive on the tail end, thereby distracting and slowing it. For a moment, the Daein soldiers closed around them, and perhaps Shiharam thought he’d won.

But with a crow of defiance, Titania announced herself. She and her regiment charged out of the clifftop cemetery where they’d no doubt been waiting in the woods for some time. They ran down the slope, picking up speed as they barreled into the Daein forces from behind. Shiharam’s maneuver fell apart, and his men scrambled to retreat and reform defensive lines. Tanith, Marcia, and the other pegasus knights took advantage of the dracoknights’ dive to bombard them from above. The tail of the column reunited with the head, and Ike called to them: “All together now! Today, Talrega is ours!”

Faced with imminent defeat, Shiharam finally mounted his wyvern. He circled once over the battle, where he was defended by his loyal dracoknights—including a black-scaled wyvern whose rider must have been Jill’s Captain Haar. But when the chieftain landed in front of Ike, he was alone. The battlefield quieted; the fighting slowed. Daein and Begnion soldiers disentangled themselves. Mercenaries regrouped; friends found each other. The mortally wounded were carried or dragged away from the frontlines. While Ike and Shiharam glared at each other, the battle eventually ground to a complete stop. 

Finally Shiharam called to Ike: “Neither of us desires a drawn-out battle. Come! Hold nothing back!” He drew a long poleaxe from his saddle, and his wyvern opened its throat in a savage roar.

Ike adjusted his sword grip with both hands and, as instructed, didn’t hold anything back at all. He may have looked small and vulnerable next to the wyvern’s violet scales, which were as strong as steel, and the older man’s axe and armor, which were of the highest quality. But Ike avoided the dragon’s snapping jaws, and he used its folded wings to dip out of Shiharam’s line of sight. Ike danced in and out of the reach of his poleax, and he managed to keep his head on his shoulders. 

Finally, drenched in sweat and blood, Ike thrust his sword into the wyvern’s neck, up through the base of its skull, and into its brain. The beast toppled instantly, throwing Shiharam from its back. “Surrender!” Ike demanded, as the man rose to his feet.

“I cannot,” Shiharam replied grimly. There was resignation in his eyes. Soren had no doubt this man knew he would die today, but that didn’t stop him from putting up an incredible fight. Ike drew the shorter sword from his belt, forced to leave the longer embedded in the dragon’s head. It was smaller, lighter, and more easily wielded. Ike showed off Greil’s ambidextrous style, tossing it from one hand to the other and keeping Shiharam on his toes. 

They traded blows in front of the wyvern’s corpse, while the members of both armies stood back to give them room. Then finally, one of Ike’s attacks sunk true, and Shiharam crumpled to his knees. “It is done,” the Talregan chieftain whispered before shuddering and falling to his side.

“Oh, no it isn’t!” declared Ike, who was holding Shiharam’s shoulder in one hand and the sword with the other. He had moved with the falling body so the wound wouldn’t tear wider. “Mist! Someone, heal him!”

A Begnion cleric stepped hesitantly forward, obviously confused, but then Rhys pushed past her. Kneeling beside Ike, he examined the wound and felt for a pulse. Ike withdrew the blade, and blood pooled around their knees. “Heal him,” Ike ordered.

Rhys shook his head but raised his staff anyway. “*Mend!*” he commanded, but there was no light and Shiharam didn’t stir.

“I am sorry, Ike.” Rhys shook his head again. “He’s gone.”

“Blast!” Ike leapt to his feet. His teeth were clenched, and he looked genuinely mournful, in his own, angry way. Soren knew he was thinking of Jill, and possibly remembering what it was like to lose his own father. “Damn it all!” he growled. No one could blur the line between friend and foe quite like Ike.

In the confusion that ensued, the dracoknights native to Talrega instantly surrendered. They landed, dismounted, and sent their steeds flying into the higher mountains. Then they laid down their weapons and knelt where they stood. Infantrymen who were members of the Talregan Guard did the same, and Captain Haar approached Ike to voice his people’s surrender. However, the non-Talregan Daein soldiers were apparently not on the same page. After realizing what Haar was saying, they raised their weapons and attacked again.

“You can’t!” someone yelled at the dracoknights.

“We won’t die traitors!” screamed another.

“Not after everything!” added yet another

They fought awkwardly, desperately—without leadership nor the dracoknights’ air support. The Liberation Army made short work of them, and once it was over, Ike was able to properly accept Haar’s surrender and close the floodgates (which held back very little of the reservoir’s water by this point). He then set about requisitioning food and supplies from the town. Apparently the Daein army had been stationed there for weeks, feeding off of the town’s provisions. There wasn’t much to spare.

To make matters worse, a huge swath of farmland—land that had already been planted with the season’s early crops—had been washed away by the flood. One small village had even been destroyed. Out of curiosity, Soren climbed to the top of the castle, where he could view the entirety of the flood’s damage. _Daein sacrificed a portion of its own land and people just to slow us down,_ he thought. _We are halfway to Nevassa, but Daein is obviously willing to do anything to stop us._ The Liberation Army may have won a decisive victory today, but Soren would have to be more careful from now on and anticipate traps like this.

“Sir Soren?” a voice queried. He turned to see one of the Begnion soldiers standing hesitantly at the entrance to the roof. He glanced around and paled at the height.

Soren enjoyed his discomfort. “Yes?”

“General Ike wishes to see you,” he reported woozily. Soren nodded and followed him into the safety of the castle.

“Soren, what’s the damage to the surrounding area?” Ike asked abruptly.

“It’s terrible,” Soren reported with slight appreciation. “Many miles’ worth of fields and homes have been completely destroyed.” He wondered for a moment how many years of snowmelt had collected in that reservoir just to be unleashed on the region in a far more devastating way.

“I see…” Ike shook his head.

“I don’t think this is what the enemy wanted,” Titania sighed. “So why did this have to happen?”

Soren, of course, agreed that this was unfortunate. However, he now realized Ike and Titania were discouraged for an entirely different reason.

“It’s heartless,” Elincia confirmed Soren’s suspicions. “What will happen to those who’ve lost their homes? Can we do anything to help them?”

“You want to aid the people of our enemy?” Soren asked in disbelief and alarm. “That is time and energy we cannot afford.” He thought they’d settled this debate back in Tor Garen.

“Soren.” Ike turned to him, his expression suddenly stern. “Take a portion of our supplies and distribute it among the locals.”

“What! Are you serious?”

“Our opponent is the Daein army. We’ve no quarrel with these people.”

Soren took a deep breath and tried to reason with him. “Ike, I know you feel for these people, but this is war! We don’t have-”

Ike cut him off. “I don’t know what it will accomplish, Soren. But moving on without lifting a finger is something I cannot do.” He twisted around and was gone before Soren could argue further.

“I understand,” Titania said, offering Soren an apologetic smile. She gestured with her eyes at the spot where Ike had disappeared. “I’d rather regret something I had done than regret taking no action at all.” She followed Ike out.

Only Soren and Elincia were left. The princess was grinning excitedly. “I would like to help too! Perhaps I can aid the injured.” She headed eagerly for the door.

“Idiocy…” Soren muttered, and to his surprise, Elincia froze in the threshold.

She leaned a hand against the stone frame. Without turning around, she asked, “Is it?”

Soren said nothing, wondering if he was about to be scolded for his rudeness again. But her voice didn’t sound accusatory, and now that he thought of it, Elincia had never reprimanded him for such a thing herself.

“General Ike’s words inspire me so, and Captain Titania’s as well. Is it not better to act? To do whatever we are able?” She finally turned around. Her eyes were downcast.

Soren placed his next words carefully. “Tell me, Princess, do _you_ think your time best spent healing Daein’s injured farmers?”

“I feel so useless,” she admitted. “I was once trained to use a Heal staff, to see if I had an aptitude for it. I know the basics. Perhaps I can-”

“But you are not a healer,” Soren cut her off, “and you were trained for more than mending flesh. Were you raised to be a queen or not?”

Elincia swallowed in surprise, but after a moment she adjusted her posture and raised the line of her jaw. “I was.”

“It is the foolish, knee-jerk reaction of the well-meaning to give what little you have to those who have not,” he continued. “Ike is…idealistic. But his idealism will see this army starve. The villagers will have a couple days’ relief, but then what? Generously given rations won’t save their lands, but Ike cannot see this. He won’t look farther than his own heart.”

“But his heart is vast,” she replied softly, “That is why his men love him.”

“Shall we see how long that love lasts when the men have nothing to eat?”

“What do you suggest?” Elincia walked to the window and looked at the flooded lands below the mountain.

Soren crossed his arms. “My general has given me an order to distribute a portion of our supplies to the villagers, so that is what must do.” He waited to see what she would say. They rarely spoke with one another, and he still had little faith she was fit to rule. But this was a test, and he was curious to see what she would do.

Her face was grim as she continued to absorb the view. Finally she spoke: “We do not have food and supplies to spare. Nor do we have a surplus of time to spend here. We have very little to give at all. So I find myself asking what we _do_ have…” She turned to face him. “I find that we have a thousand prisoners of war we can do nothing with. We have this castle and access to the floodgates. We have Talrega.”

“And what use is Talrega to the villagers?”

Elincia grinned cunningly. “I have a plan,” she declared. “Can I count on your aid?”

Soren thought about this a moment. “You are my employer,” he finally answered. “So naturally, I must obey your instructions…” He felt a tug at the corner of his mouth. The princess had surprised him. “And I do have an interest in plans.”

Now her smile widened into a more familiar expression—innocent and care-free. Soren scowled in response. She was still a silly princess after all.

Soren and Elincia sat down to finalize her plan, and then they walked through Talrega to confirm their resources. They also stopped in the castle dungeons to speak with Haar. As Soren had predicted, he agreed to cooperate. Then came the real challenge: telling Ike.

“Soren, there you are!” he said. “I have a party ready to go. Have you taken care of the supplies?”

“About that…” Soren began. He saw the hopeful shine in his friend’s eyes and suddenly felt like he’d betrayed him by joining forces with Elincia. In what world did he choose the fragile princess over his commander?

“Soren and I have developed a new solution,” Elincia announced, taking a confident step forward. “Rather than offer our much-needed supplies, we will turn over our prisoners instead. The dracoknights who have surrendered will be distributed among the affected villages. They are to be chained in service until they have drained and replanted the fields and rebuilt the lost homes.”

“What?” Ike blanched. “That’s slavery!”

Elincia quivered slightly, perhaps surprised by the force of his response, but she stood her ground. “I have spoken to Captain Haar, and he has agreed to the indenture on behalf of his troops. If your party will escort me, I will now go to the villages and speak to their leaders.”

Ike shook his head. “I know they’re our enemy, but they surrendered of their own will. We can’t subject them to hard labor.”

“Their crimes were not committed against the Liberation Army,” came Elincia’s smooth reply. “They made victims of their fellow Daein citizens. Although the soldiers in our dungeons did not give the order, they saw what was happening and did nothing to stop it. They did not speak against the horrendous cruelty, nor did a single man or woman among them attempt to close the floodgates during the battle, when they had ample opportunity.” Her fists were clenched and her chin held high. “And for this, their weapons and armor will be melted down and made into chains and tools. They will rebuild the land they have carelessly destroyed.”

Ike, Titania, every soldier within earshot were stunned into silence.

Finally Titania spoke: “But is it our place to punish the Talregans for a crime against the Daein people?”

“No,” Elincia answered boldly. “Nor is it our place to apologize for their actions. This is neither punishment nor an apology. It is a solution.”

Ike said nothing as the seconds ticked by, and everyone awaited his response. His face looked troubled, but he stared for a long time into Elincia’s eyes and eventually gave in. “Fine. Tanith will take you to the nearest village.”

Elincia’s postured relaxed slightly as she accepted her victory. “Thank you,” she said gently, and Tanith helped her onto the saddle in front of her.

While Ike and Titania tended the troops, Soren enacted the other half of Elincia’s plan by arranging the transportation of the prisoners and the destruction of their weapons and armor.

Over the next couple days, the Liberation Army rested while they waited for the land to dry out. Nasir reappeared, congratulating them on their victory and bringing good news that Begnion would be able to provide more consistent supply drops through the spring and summer. Soren was sickened to see the traitor speaking so smoothly to Ike, touching his back and arm, offering smiles and encouraging words. But Soren had no proof and no way of preventing Nasir from spilling his secret, so he kept his accusations to himself.

The townsfolk agreed to take the Talregans as their indentured servants, and Jill welcomed the survivors of the destroyed village to take up residence in the castle until their houses were rebuilt. The young noble (and heir to Talrega) mourned her father and countrymen, but through her grief, she responded favorably to Elincia’s plan. Apparently she liked the idea of her friend Haar getting his hands dirty, because it caused her mouth to twitch slightly and a spark to return to her ruby eyes, if only for a moment. Although she was reluctant to show her face in town, let alone make any official announcements, she agreed to lend Elincia her aid and assigned a steward to her father’s post who would abide by the plan.

They left on the third day, after Shiharam’s funeral. Soren didn’t attend, but Ike was at Jill’s side the entire time. Apparently she’d forgiven him easily, saying she understood that he’d done what he had to do. She vowed to remain with the Liberation Army and fight until the end. By the time Talrega’s clifftop city was no longer visible behind them, Soren was satisfied with the outcome all around.


	4. CHAPTER 35: NEVASSA

Talrega was the last highland hold in Daein, and from here north, the land leveled. But that didn’t mean the trek was easy. These flatlands were arid yet dotted with bogs, and Soren found much of his time was spent planning routes that promised drinkable water, especially during the summer months. The Crimea Liberation Army crisscrossed the country, heading west before continuing north, and they followed safer paths despite the extra time. The Daein Army knew how to use the terrain, and Soren only permitted festering swamp battles when the enemy gave him no other choice.

Most often, however, the Daein Army merely sat on forts and key townships, waiting for the invaders to come to them. Usually these targets were located beside or directly on top of valuable water, so victory was a matter of survival as well as progress.

Soren spent countless hours thinking of ways to draw them out from behind their protective walls—but this was quite difficult considering Ike and Elincia forbid marauding or taking hostages. When they couldn’t lure their enemy outside, Soren devised ways to penetrate the walls with moles who could destabilizing garrisons, remove sentries, or simply open a back door for the rest of the army.

If this wasn’t sufficient, he had no choice but to lay siege. However, the Liberation Army wasn’t equipped with siege engines, and neither did they have the engineers or time to build them. Battering rams and ladders could be thrown together in a pinch, but these were weaker tools of war than Soren would have liked. Needless to say, forcing doors open from the outside was never his first choice.

Targeted missions were how their little army truly excelled, and Soren directed Ike to send small teams where they could do the most damage: hindering Daein supply chains, burning military stables, ambushing messengers, eliminating scouts, and sabotaging whatever they could get their hands on. In this way, the mercenary army was conquering the nation like an infection slowly devouring a body.

After thirteen months on the campaign, they were finally ready to take Nevassa—and end the war. Their numbers had dwindled, but so had their enemy’s. The Liberation Army had defeated Daein at every turn, but Ashnard still ignored their demands for surrender. It had been a bloody year, and yet even more blood would have to be spilled to defeat the Mad King and take back Crimea.

As the cool winds of autumn blew down from the north, everyone seemed eager to put this conquest behind them. Even Soren yearned for quiet days doing regular mercenary work and to never have to orchestrate another invasion again. Of course, he had to survive this one first, which was why he restlessly patrolled the camp’s perimeter.

The Liberation Army had put down their stakes on hill just a few hours’ march from the city, which was already visible in the distance. The view was strikingly similar to when Soren had ridden away with Sileas, and although that day felt like lifetimes ago, memories of his life in Nevassa were slowly creeping back. He found himself wondering if Galina was still alive somewhere in those backstreets.

Tearing his eyes from the city, Soren resumed his patrol. He usually left these checks to Titania, but this evening was far too important. They couldn’t afford to be attacked unawares tonight, not when they were sitting on Ashnard’s doorstep and so outnumbered.

While he walked, he recalled Nasir’s latest report. The dragon claimed to have new information from Gallia, although he’d yet to reveal how he came by his intelligence (Soren suspected the whispering crystal). He said the Crimean people were suffering greatly under Daein oppression, but after two years, the occupying armies had established total control. Now they were finally prepared to launch an attack on Gallia.

Soren was reluctant to believe anything Nasir had to say, but he had to admit these reports sounded plausible. He knew the only reason they’d reached Nevassa with such a small army was because much of Daein’s military might was still deployed in Crimea. But if those armies were swelling for another invasion, it seemed Ashnard truly believed he would crush the Liberation Army tomorrow. He’d had ample time, and yet he hadn’t called back any forces. Despite a years’ worth of defeat and thousands of Daein lives lost, the Mad King still didn’t consider them a threat. The thought was maddening in and of itself.

Soren glanced at the city, which was speckled with the lights of people’s windows. It seemed darker than it should have been, the lights more scattered than he remembered. But perhaps that was not unexpected on the eve of battle.

He let his mind wander and considered who might be leading the occupation forces in Crimea. He assumed it had to be one of the Four Riders, if not all of them together. They were Ashnard’s top generals, but the Liberation Army hadn’t faced a single one—at least, not yet. Tomorrow they may very well meet Petrine, the Black Knight, and the rest in addition to King Daein and whatever elite forces he’d assembled. It was a daunting prospect, but at this stage in the campaign, it seemed seizing the castle and killing the king was the only way to force the troops in Crimea to return home.

“Are you ready to go?” Ike’s voice interrupted his thoughts. The young general fell into step beside him.

“I was just checking the perimeter,” Soren replied curtly, pulling to a stop.

“Titania and I have already done that a dozen times,” Ike groaned. “It’s time to see the city!”

Soren knew he couldn’t persuade him to leave the reconnaissance to more capable scouts. Ike wanted to be the first to set foot in Nevassa, and if he was going, so was Soren. “I am prepared to depart whenever you are.”

“Then, let’s go!” He handed Soren a dark cloak with a deep hood, and lifted his own so it shadowed his face. Soren accepted the garment and put it on.

Then they joined the rest of the reconnaissance team—among them Volke and Sothe, who would be especially helpful in getting the lay of the land. Titania was assembled with her best cavalry scouts (although no one was mounted tonight), and the beast laguz were here to lend their superior night vision. To Soren’s irritation, it seemed Nasir was joining them as well. Then Elincia emerged from behind Nasir, and Soren was even more surprised.

“The princess is joining the reconnaissance team?” he hissed to Ike. “I strongly advise against this!”

“She wants to see the city,” was Ike’s excuse.

Soren could hardly believe his blasé attitude. “This is not a leisure visit!”

“It’s fine,” Ike assured, “We’ll look out for her.” Soren swallowed any further protests. Elincia and Ike were equally important to this army. Losing either one of them would be the end of the campaign, so he supposed they might as well be together.

It was not yet midnight when they entered the city streets, but the capital was oddly quiet. Before long Soren realized entire districts had been evacuated, and the buildings on either side of him were just as empty as they appeared.

The reconnaissance team divided into six groups. Ike led the largest one, which consisted of Soren, Elincia, Titania, two scouts, and himself. Volke and Sothe comprised the smallest groups, each embarking on a solo mission. Lethe, Mordecai, and Muarim led the rest. Everyone was wearing dark cloaks to hide their weapons with hoods to hide their faces. No one carried a lantern, and they kept their voices quiet. Even so, it was foolish to venture into the city with such a large party. They were the only ones on the street and would surely stand out if anyone peeked out their windows.

That being said, Soren saw no one in the windows. They were crossing through a wealthy neighborhood, but most of the houses didn’t have even have candles lit. No smoke rose from the chimneys, and there were no soldiers or constables patrolling the streets.

“So this is the Daein capital?” Ike whispered, looking around in awe. Soren wondered if he realized how suspicious it was that the city was missing its people. Then Ike turned his gaze straight ahead to where the walls and towers of Nevassa Castle rose over the rooftops. “If we can just defeat King Ashnard, this war will be over.”

“Ike,” Nasir’s voice called softly. He jogged up to them with muffled footsteps. “Here you are.” The dragon had been assigned to Lethe’s group, and Soren wondered what nefarious purpose might have led him to abandon it.

“What is it, Nasir?” Ike asked, immediately on edge.

He waved his hand casually, as if he could brush off his sudden appearance. “It is nothing, only… Are you sure that you have enough soldiers to lay siege to the capital? You opponent is called ‘Mad King Ashnard’ after all. Who knows what sort of traps he has in store for you.” He glanced at the castle looming in the distance, and there was something undeniably fearful in the squint of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw. Soren wondered what he was afraid of—that they would win, or that they would lose?

Neither Ike nor Titania, however, seemed the least bit suspicious. They accepted Nasir’s casual tone and immediately relaxed. “He may indeed have something planned,” Titania agreed, keeping her voice soft. “Surely they’ve received reports of our advancement. Yet, it’s so quiet…” She glanced around the street uncertainly.

“I suspect every able-bodied man has been conscripted,” Soren explained, gesturing to the empty houses, “while women and children have evacuated the area.”

“We’re not invaders.” Ike frowned. “We wouldn’t lay a hand on the citizenry…” 

“There’s no way for them to know that,” Soren reminded him, “They do know what their army is doing to the people of Crimea, however. If they fear they will be punished for that, I’m sure they decided to err on the side of caution.”

“What?” Elincia exclaimed, as if something had just occurred to her. She lowered her voice before continuing. “What’s happening to the Crimean people? Surely only the soldiers were imprisoned or killed…”

Her question may have been rhetorical, but Soren felt a sudden desire to answer it. She hadn’t heard Nasir’s report today about the conditions in Crimea, and that needed to be rectified. Perhaps it was the proximity to his childhood home, or the persistence of the parasite Nasir who remained stuck to Ike’s side, but Soren found he had no patience for the princess. She had even wormed her way onto this mission, where she had no business being. Now she would pay the price.

“You truly have no idea how to rule a nation,” he began. “Do you even know what happens to a country that loses a war? Everything is reaped or destroyed. Homes, land, crops—even the citizens. Families are torn apart and forced into service. Men, women, children—they’re not even treated as human. Even now, your precious subjects, especially those near the capital where Daein’s presence is strongest, are being treated worse than subhu- than laguz.”

Elincia sputtered to regain her composure. “That’s- Why would they- That’s _horrible_ …”

Soren continued: “The common people understand this. Those born with nothing know that nothing stands between them and being robbed blind, raped bloody, or used as target practice by the first bandit or soldier who looks their way. Which is why they pay for protection in the form of taxes. The royals and nobles charged with protecting the Crimean people have been failing in their duty for decades, but even that pales in comparison to the sin of being defeated in war. It is the ultimate betrayal of the people’s trust.”

“ _Gah!_ ” Elincia gasped as if his words were a knife. She began weeping openly (albeit gracefully). “By the Goddess, I am a fool…”

“Enough, Soren!” Ike scolded with finality. He hadn’t bothered to keep his voice quiet.

Soren winced and glanced around. There were no additional lights appearing in the houses, and still no one looked out the windows. But even if these houses were empty, it had been foolish to pressure the princess into making a scene in the middle of enemy territory. He didn’t know what had come over him. 

“Elincia,” Titania chirped with forced optimism, “be that as it may, the majority of people want to see the royal family restored to power. They believe that you will help them reclaim their old lives and restore peace.” At this, Elincia wiped her eyes.

Ike nodded in agreement and seized the princess’s tear-dampened hand. “Now it’s time for us to throw down Ashnard and drive his army from Crimean soil! You’re the only one who can do that. Do you understand?”

Elincia offered a faint smile. “Yes…yes, I do. I… I will save the people of Crimea. This I swear.” The pair stared resolutely into each other’s eyes and then, on unspoken agreement, moved their gaze to Ashnard’s castle.

Soren realized Ike had been speaking to himself just as much as Elincia, and he wondered if he’d wanted her to come on this foray for touching a moment exactly like this. Releasing Elincia’s hands, Ike turned back to Soren and the others. “As I’ve said before, I won’t be turned away. If there are traps, we just fight our way through. This war ends here!”

“Yes! I’m with you all the way!” Titania crowed, immediately covering her mouth when she remembered they were supposed to be quiet.

To charge in relying on pure grit not to be killed, to push forward in disregard of any future breaking point—such a course of action was a mockery of war. But, when Ike was leading the charge, it always seemed to work. Soren had learned it was usually better to believe in Ike than to hold him back. “I hope it all goes as planned,” he finally replied. “I will do my best to make it so.”

Nasir remained silent, but he looked like he’d just swallowed a sour grape. Soren was oddly pleased by his discomfort, even if his distress was likely caused by trials presently unknown to the mercenaries.

Shortly after this episode, Ike suggested they return to the camp, and the two scouts stayed behind to finish the mission. It’d been a leisure visit after all, and this irked Soren. They returned to basecamp safely, and yet he couldn’t help but feel angry. Everything had turned out fine, but it’d still been a foolish risk.

He tried to distract himself with another walk around the perimeter. The camp was almost as quiet as the city, and yet the atmosphere was completely different. There was an electric current of excitement and anticipation connecting everyone, but no one dared give voice to it. The weight of the coming battle stifled the air, like atmospheric pressure before a thunder storm.

Finding the perimeter just as well-guarded as it had been hours ago, Soren retreated to the strategy tent where he poured over the contingency plans for the coming battle and reviewed all the maps of Nevassa Castle they’d managed to collect. While he was doing this, a scout came in with the reports from the reconnaissance teams. Soren accepted the large scroll of papers and began reading them as fast as he could.

The reports revealed no secret ambushes or traps placed in the city, so the plans for tomorrow’s attack were unchanged. Soren was confused by the lack of barricades or battalions stationed in the city. It appeared every single soldier had fallen back to the castle. That was where Ashnard wanted the final battle to take place. Perhaps it made sense. Perhaps the king had noticed they struggled most with direct sieges. But even so, Soren had a bad feeling about this.

The one thousand survivors of the Crimean Liberation Army divided into three groups and marched down Nevassa’s main streets, heading straight for the castle. Ike led the central column, which included his mercenaries, his laguz allies, Tanith, and her fifty surviving Holy Guards. They didn’t look as uniform or synchronized as the columns of Begnion regulars, but in their eyes and in their gaits, it was clear they were ready for battle.

The streets were empty, and the houses and shops they passed were shuttered. Cavalry scouts ran ahead to be sure the way was still clear. If there was a trap, they would know it, but Soren still felt uneasy. 

“General, Ike!” one of the scouts came cantering back. “Sir, the castle gates are open!”

Ike raised his fist and called the entire column to a stop. The castle was ahead, and the road was wide and straight, but even so, the distance was too far to see if the scout was telling the truth. Nasir handed Ike his spyglass. 

Apparently what he saw confirmed the scout’s assessment. “That’s not good.” Ike growled in confusion, “What are they planning?” He handed the glass to Soren, who looked through it and could see the top of the main gate over a rise in the road. Indeed that there was no wooden door or iron portcullis to be seen.

“It must be a trap.” Elincia declared with a certainty that seemed to surprise even herself.

Soren agreed. “This is unexpected. Making us lay siege would be far and away to their advantage. I have no idea what they’re playing at.”

“Even so, we will not back down. Right, Ike?” Titania asked hopefully. She glanced at the soldiers and mercenaries waiting behind them.

“Right!” Ike squared his shoulders and punched his fist into the opposite hand. “If we can’t tell what they’re planning, it matters not how we proceed. Let’s just fight as we go.” He raised and his arm high and addressed the troops: “Let’s move! Keep your guard up, everyone!” The column began marching again, and Ike turned to the scout, saying, “Tell the other columns to continue the advance.” The soldier saluted and cantered off.

Before long, they reached the main plaza, over which the castle entrance gaped wide like a toothless mouth. There were no soldiers to be seen either here or in the bailey on the other side. The arrow loops were vacant, and no one patrolled the ramparts. The other two columns soon arrived on their right and left, each led by Ike’s favored lieutenants. But even the veteran commanders looked nervous as they trotted over to Ike for new orders.

“We go in,” he announced, before they could ask their questions. He strode forward, and Soren, Titania, and the rest of the Greil Mercenaries were right behind him.

The Begnion lieutenants shook themselves into action, returning to their respective columns and ordering their soldiers to march through.

Soren’s mind raced to predict Daein’s trap. He imagined oil and fire being poured on them as soon as they entered the courtyard. He imagined walking into a firing range with thousands of arrows suddenly coming from all directions. He imagined the iron gate dropping when only a portion of the army had come through, thereby halving their fighting power.

However, none of this happened, and eventually, the entire Liberation Army was crowded into the main bailey. The princess and convoy wagons had entered in the middle, so they wouldn’t be without the protection of more than half the army. Titania was now arranging a protective formation around them, while Ike bid Volke and Sothe locate and secure the mechanisms for the portcullis. Everyone else was ordered to stay in the courtyard until further notice.

Soren and Ike were on the far side of the yard, inspecting the main entrance to the castle keep (which was closed but appeared unlocked) when an enormous crash sounded behind them. “Sir!” a soldier frantically reported. “The gates have just closed behind us! Look out!”

“We’re trapped in the castle! Run! _Ruuun!_ ” cried another.

“Attack! We’re under attack! They’re going to kill us!” screamed a third.

Soren feared the claustrophobic soldiers would become a seething mob and end up hurting each other, but Ike took control before that could happen. “Stop, all of you!” he bellowed. “Get ahold of yourselves! You must not panic! No one has attacked!”

The army instantly quieted, and every fear-stricken face turned to Ike.

“Ike!” Titania called, forcing her way between Boyd and Mia.

“Titania! Where is Princess Elincia?”

“She’s fine. She’s with the supply convoy. They’re all under very close guard.”

Ike nodded. “Soren, is this the enemy trap?”

He glanced around. The top of the wall was still empty of soldiers. The loopholes in both the wall and the keep were still without arrowheads. The main door to the keep was still closed. Looking through the archways leading around the keep on either side, Soren could see no suspicious shadows or flickers of motion. The castle was still soundless. “It could be…” Soren finally conceded. He didn’t know what Ashnard was planning, but he feared it had something to do with Lehran’s Medallion.

“If so, to what end?” Titania asked warily.

Soren glanced around for Nasir, hoping his face or behavior would provide a clue, but he was nowhere to be seen. Looking at the crowd like this, Soren suddenly realized all eyes were on him. He needed to answer Titania’s question. “Well, the goal obviously isn’t to divide our troops and reduce our fighting strength. We’re all packed in here together. Whatever they’re planning, it appears they want us all to experience it at the same time.” He imagined walking into the keep only to be faced with Ashnard wielding the medallion. In an enclosed space with that murderous, incomprehensible power—Soren shivered at the thought.

“So they’re absolutely sure they going to win, is that it?” Ike asked, drawing everyone’s gaze back to him. Grinned hugely, he shouted: “King Ashnard of Daein!” He turned to face the keep and raised his index finger high in the air. “You’ll regret underestimating us!” The army roared and laughed in response, and every shred of fear disappeared. Soren, however, was unaffected. He wasn’t fooled by Ike’s bravado, and he knew his friend was scared too.

“No matter what, we must be cautious,” he whispered once the cheering had died down. “We can spare no efforts to protect the princess. We should put together an elite team and head for the throne room. Choose the members of this team with care. Everything will rest on their shoulders.”

“Understood.” Ike nodded. He turned back to his troops, announcing: “Here’s the plan!” He immediately set about dividing them into two regiments. As Soren could have predicted, for his ‘elite team’ he chose the original mercenaries, his laguz allies, and all his friends he’d made since leaving Crimea. Biases aside, Soren was content with his judgment. These people had endured a lot together and knew how to fight as a team.

As for the bulk of the army—the Begnion soldiers and every Holy Guard except for Tanith—they would protect Elincia and the main gate. Ike left his best lieutenant in charge. While assigning this duty, Volke and Sothe returned to report that the gatehouses had been boarded shut and the mechanisms sabotaged. Hearing this, Ike gave a second lieutenant the mission of finding a way to open the gate.

When this was done, Ike bid farewell to the princess and led his chosen team into the castle interior. The doors weren’t locked, but they did have heavy curtains behind them. The mercenaries carefully pushed past these curtains into enter a dark, yet undeniably vast hall. The windows had been covered, and the braziers doused. The mercenaries’ footsteps echoed on the stone floor, but Soren’s instinct told him the room wasn’t empty.

“We’re not alone here,” warned Muarim, and Lethe and Mordecai began circling in place, scanning the dark room with their feline eyes.

As soon as the mercenaries were all inside, the doors slammed shut, a log fell into place barring it, and the room’s braziers leapt to life. The flames illuminated row upon row of glittering black soldiers stationed around the circumference of the hall—including the wall where the double doors had just closed. The mercenaries had barely stepped inside and were already surrounded.

But no one seemed surprised by this. They reacted calmly and formed a defensive circle without Ike needing to say a thing. Now that the fires had been lit, the Daeins banged their shields, roared ferociously, and charged. The last battle for Crimea had begun.


	5. CHAPTER 36: CASTLE SIEGE

Gatrie raised his shield and charged forward with his shoulder behind it, bellowing like a wild boar. On his left and right, Titania and Oscar raced forward, capitalizing on their weapons’ long reach and their horses’ steal-shod hooves. When they peeled off on either side, Gatrie lost his momentum and planted his shield in the floor. Behind him darted Zihark and Mia, who slashed in perfect unison despite their drastically different styles. Zihark wrestled, Mia danced, and their enemies bled.

Soren sent a ball of Elfire crashing down on one of the soldiers, who dropped his axe and tore off his helmet to escape the heat. But Soren merely urged to flames to spread and consume his face. He crumpled to his knees, screaming and burning, until Stefan appeared and decapitated him. The hermit offered him a familial smile over the smoking corpse, but Soren just glared back. Then he turned and walked to a different part of the room. There were too many swordsmen here for his taste—and yet not the one he wanted to fight beside.

Searching for Ike, he passed Nephenee and Jill working together to take down a phalanx of archers. Jill drew their fire, with her wyvern darting up and down, jumping from wall to wall, and even scrabbling over the rafters. She maneuvered expertly despite the limited airspace. Meanwhile Nephenee crept behind them. When the time was right, she began rapidly stabbing her lance into their necks and knees with an almost mechanical fluidity. Distracted by the assault, they disregarded Jill, whose wyvern plunged down, crushing them into the floor.

Moving on, Soren passed Reyson, who was standing rather than flying and seemed to be in trouble. The heron was glaring at a large lance knight approaching with hungry eyes. Reyson’s arms were crossed as if unimpressed. Soren began uttering a spell to save his life, but there was no need. Sothe sprinted from behind the nearest brazier. He grabbed the knight’s elbow before he could even react to the appearance of the small, green-haired boy. Then planting a foot on the steel poleyn shielding his kneecap, Sothe crawled up the man’s side and onto his back, where he wrapped his legs around his neck and stabbed two knives through the eyeholes of his helmet. The man screamed and teetered, trying to throw Sothe off, but he just twisted the blades deeper, stabbing his brain and ending his life. When the knight’s body fell, Sothe leapt nimbly off. He landed in front of Reyson, grinning. The heron merely nodded and, spreading his wings wide, took to the air.

Turning his prepared spell on someone else, Soren moved to the part of the hall where the battle was fiercest. Here he found Ike and Boyd fighting side by side—Ike with his broadsword and Boyd with a double-bladed axe in either hand and a hatchet on either hip. Tormod hid behind them, casting flame walls to keep them from becoming overwhelmed. Soren took his place beside Tormod and used Wind spells to fan the boy’s flames. He was able to strengthen, spread, and redirect them into adjacent enemies.

Nearby, Mordecai and Lethe were fighting a particularly violent-looking axewoman. She was large for beorc standards, and apparently very strong. It took both of the laguz to bring her down, and they only succeeded because Lethe grabbed her right arm and Mordecai her left leg. Perhaps it was an accident, but each laguz pulled in a different direction and the woman was ripped apart.

While they were handling her, two archers had crept up and now had arrows locked on either laguz. Leaving Tormod alone a moment, Soren stepped closer and unleased a single Wind spell. He targeted the closest archer, slicing his arm, shattering his bow, and sending him careening into the other so that, when his arrow flew, it easily missed Mordecai. The laguz took care of the rest, and Soren returned to supporting Ike.

Eventually the battle of the entrance hall was won, but it wasn’t taken easily. The Daein soldiers showed a strange abandon for their own lives. They refused to surrender or retreat when it became clear the mercenaries had bested them. Even the gravely injured struggled to rise and fight again.

Now with heaving chests and sweaty faces, the mercenaries glanced around. They were confused; they didn’t know what to do next. Ike, however, didn’t appear uncertain in the least. He glanced once at the grand double doors, which were firmly barred with the massive oak log, but then turned his gaze to the second pair of doors at the opposite end of the hall. He looked eager to keep moving.

“Do we go back?” Titania asked, voicing the question they were all thinking.

Ike shook his head. “I don’t think all of us together could move that log, and trying to chop through it would take too long. Anyway, the throne room’s this way.”

Soren walked where he was pointing and tried to open either of the double doors, but they wouldn’t budge. According to maps of the castle, these led to a middle hall and a grand staircase. The staircase, in turn, would have led to the throne room on the second floor. This would have been the fastest way to their destination, but it seemed Ashnard didn’t want to make it that easy for them. The iron doors, which were engraved with images of intertwined dragons, were firmly locked.

The other mercenaries understood what to do, and everyone standing near a door tried to open it. But only Brom’s was unlocked. The middle-aged axe knight shivered visibly when it opened and immediately closed and pressed his back against it.

“We go that way!” Ike declared. “Tie up the survivors and see if they won’t tell us what awaits us ahead. We move in five minutes.”

Not a moment was wasted as the mercenaries hauled the injured and disarmed Daeins to the corner of the room and began tying them up with their own belts, the strings of fallen bows, and whatever else they could find. Ike tried to interrogate a few of them himself, but they wouldn’t say anything useful. They would only claim Daein was assured victory, that it didn’t matter if they died, and that they even preferred it. One soldier attempted to kill himself when it became clear none of the mercenaries were going to do it, but Devdan intervened. The peculiar halberdier embraced the young man tightly, murmuring nonsense about mothers and babies, until the bewildered soldier gave up his concealed knife and promised not to try again.

Volke offered to get Ike the information he wanted: “I could convince any one of them to talk,” he said, gesturing to the prisoners with his eyes. “A thousand gold.”

Ike shook his head and ignored Volke’s offer. “We move out now!” he barked, and everyone regrouped behind him. He led the way through the passage Brom was guarding, despite Ulki’s warning that he could heard numerous soldiers breathing in the next room.

Ashnard’s strategy soon became clear: he’d turned his castle into a maze and was forcing the mercenaries to fight their way through it. Soren didn’t know where this path would end, but Ike seemed convinced it would take them to the throne room and the Mad King himself.

“You cannot be certain of that,” Soren counseled.

“Where else would he be leading us?” was Ike’s reply.

Soren didn’t have an answer. From everything he’d learned about Ashnard, these tactics didn’t make sense. King Daein was a man who favored—and excelled in—traditional methods of war. But his strategy today was akin to having the bowels of his castle digest the mercenary army until spitting them out wherever he wanted. It was anything but traditional, and time would tell if it would be effective.

As the day wore on, the mercenaries crossed from one room to the next, up and down packed stairs and corridors, and in and out of dark halls furnished with dark soldiers. Sometimes they met dead ends and were forced to return to rooms where reinforcements had already appeared, and upon defeating them, they would find a new door unlocked or unbarricaded. The maze seemed endless, and eventually the mercenaries’ stamina began to wane. It was all Ike could do to keep them going.

“For us there is no tomorrow!” a dying garrison commander shouted to his remaining troops. He staggered with a crazed look in his eye. “We cannot be beaten, nor can we withdraw!” His helmet was missing, and his face was bruised. Blood trickled from his severed left ear down neck, and one of Boyd’s hatchets was lodged in his right scapula. “We must defeat the Crimean Army and bring His Majesty back to us!”

The surviving soldiers rallied to his side. It was moments like this that the mercenaries’ morale and energy dipped lowest. No one understood what the commander was talking about or why all these soldiers were convinced they would win even if they died—and not understanding was exhausting. Even Soren felt drained from trying to figure it out. But this commander may have given him a clue.

He made his way closer, in case further hints were about to fall from the Daein’s lips, but a moment later, Astrid’s arrow found its mark in his chest. He instantly crumped to the floor, glancing around as if he had no idea where the arrow had come from. To answer his questioning gaze, Astrid sent a second arrow through his other lung.

“I cannot…stop your march…” the commander wheezed. “But…we are not defeated.” He smiled a corpse’s smile. “General Ena… Protect…the capital…” His face hit the stone floor, and Astrid was already feathering another opponent.

Soren jogged away from the fallen commander, searching for his friend. “Ike!” he called above the battle. “New information!”

At the sound of his name, Ike dispatched the spearman he was fighting and turned to him. “What is it?” he asked urgently

Soren gestured for him to retreat. After hesitating a moment, Ike consented to follow him. He knew there was a limit to how far he could drag Ike away from an ongoing battle, so he didn’t go too far. Once he could speak more easily, he launched into his explanation: “Surely you’ve noticed that these soldiers seem already beaten. They fight like demons for they have already accepted their death and have no fear of pain.”

Ike nodded and glanced back at the embattled Daeins. “Oh, I’ve noticed.”

“And yet they seem convinced that they will win. It is maddening.”

“Yeah,” Ike agreed, “So?”

“The late commander you see there—” Soren pointed where he’d fallen “—said something before he died. He urged his troops to ‘bring back His Majesty’.”

You don’t mean-” Ike looked like he’d been slapped.

Soren nodded solemnly. “Ashnard may not even be here. If so, his troops know that we cannot win today. Routing even this entire castle will not free Crimea.”

“No!” Ike took a step back and grabbed the hilt of the sword. “No,” he repeated defiantly. “I don’t know why that man said what he did, and I don’t care. No king would abandon his nation like that. He’s waiting for us in the throne room, where I’m going to meet him and gut him myself.”

“He also mentioned a ‘General Ena’ who may be awaiting us ahead,” Soren added, deciding not to argue.

Without another word, Ike strode back into the fray. Soren hurried after him with his spell book in hand, but it quickly became clear Ike wasn’t set on fighting. He walked straight for the fallen commander’s body, which he rolled over and grabbed by the collar. “General Ena?” he demanded, with a rough shake. “Is that the next of King Ashnard’s pawns we have to defeat? Huh?” He gave the body another shake, but the man was already dead.

Mist appeared behind them. “Ike…?” she whispered uncertainly. She had her staff in one hand and her sword in the other.

Ike dropped the body and got back to his feet. Glancing around, he seemed to realize the battle was ending and his mercenaries were once again looking to him for guidance. “What are you lot doing sitting around? Press on!” he ordered, perhaps more tersely than usual. Soren realized this battle was grating on his nerves as much as everyone else’s.

But at his words, the mercenaries jumped into action. Shinon and Rolf started salvaging arrows from the corpses. Rhys began healing Makalov, who’d been knocked out cold, while Marcia was attempting to secure and calm her brother’s spooked horse. (The horses, pegasi, and wyvern all seemed to resent fighting indoors for so long.)

Soren caught his breath, drank some water, and bound a cut on his forearm. It wasn’t bad enough to warrant healing, and Rhys and Mist were busy anyway. While he was doing this, he kept an eye on Ike, who didn’t take water for himself until Mist forced him. When he did finally drink, he seemed to consider the canteen just another challenge to overcome, and he guzzled it seriously. Soren knew he was impatient to move on, and he wasn’t wrong. The longer they waited, the more chance the mercenaries had to realize their own exhaustion.

Then again, Soren wasn’t certain he wanted Ike and the others to keep charging blindly ahead. Ashnard or no Ashnard, medallion or no medallion—Soren didn’t know what they would find at the end of this maze, or if he even wanted to reach it.

Before long, the mercenaries entered another large battleground. This appeared to be the castle’s main dining hall, and recalling maps of the castle, Soren both hoped and feared this meant they were nearing a passage to the throne room.

The long tables that would have normally stood in neat rows were now either pressed against the walls or upturned as barricades. Massive dragon-bone chandeliers hung from the rafters traversing the vaulted ceiling, and the high walls were adorned with stained-glass windows depicting scenes from Daein myth and history. But the sun wasn’t strong this time of day, and the windows were only a shadow of their potential grandeur. The chandeliers were unlit, and the room was gloomy.

On the opposite side of the hall, the floor was elevated where the king’s table should have stood. But now it was empty save for a squadron of black-armored knights and a single white-armored one.

Soren squinted for a better look, but he couldn’t identify this man. He wielded a heavy lance in one hand, and his helmet was tucked under his opposite arm. His hair and beard were gray, but he was obviously not stooped or diminished with age. Soren wondered if this was one of Ashnard’s generals, perhaps even one of the Four Riders. He would have to be high-ranked to wear custom silver-white armor instead of the traditional black.

Soren decided this was a sign they were finally nearing the end. In fact, he wondered if this might be the person Ashnard had left in charge (if he was indeed still in Crimea). But he decided not to speculate further. There was still a battle to fight, and the long dining hall between the mercenaries and the old general was packed with ranks of Daein soldiers. Whoever he was, he wouldn’t be easy to reach.

“CHARGE!” Ike called, raising his sword and starting to run. His mercenaries echoed his roar and surged behind him like a tidal wave. Although Soren’s legs ached and he felt he’d reached the end of his strength, he managed to run fast enough to stay just behind Ike.

They crashed into the first row of soldiers and, more importantly, their interlocking shields. Ike and the others dug their heels in; they pushed, reached, and stabbed, trying to break through. Arrows came over the top, and those with shields raised them to protect those who did not. Those with armor, even just a few pieces, took their most protective stances. But arrowheads still bit flesh, and people cried out in pain.

Soren, meanwhile, used Thunder spells to summon lightning on the heads of the shield-bearers. Eventually the shield wall buckled, and the mercenaries broke through. Fighting erupted on all sides, and it was all Soren could to do to avoid the many sharp things slicing, jabbing, and flying at him from all angles.

He relied on his Wind and Elwind spells now. When he felt overwhelmed, he used broad gusts of air to push enemies back or knock them down. When he had the opportunity to focus, he cast more precise spells to cut through the soldiers’ armor and flesh. When he was doing well, the spells came to his lips in a never-ending chant, and one page after another flitted through his fingers.

Finally they pushed the Daeins back to the far wall. The surviving soldiers were trying to reorganized themselves atop the raised platform. Perhaps they thought the measly double step would protect them. But the enemy general was clearly not of that mindset; he donned his helmet and took his tall shield from a squire beside him. While his troops retreated and scrambled to remember basic formations, he stepped down from the stage.

“We fight to the last!” he announced, banging the shield on the ground and then pointing his lance straight at Ike.

“Do you think that’s General Ena?” Ike whispered to Soren.

He shook his head. “I do not believe it matters. Whoever he is, I will stand behind you as you take him down.”

“Right.” Ike grinned. He gripped his sword in both hands and ran forward. “ _Hyaa!_ ” he cried, “Take this!” The old general easily blocked his first swipe—then his second and third. On the fourth, he let it glance off his armor as if to prove it would hardly leave a scratch.

Neither commander had ordered their troops to wait on their account, and so neither did. The mercenaries coursed around the embattled generals, and the Daein soldiers tried to stop them from climbing the steps.

Although Soren had said he would support him, he didn’t think Ike would appreciate his interference now. And Ike’s pride aside, the old man wasn’t hitting back anyway. Soren’s aid wasn’t necessary.

Stepping back and letting his next spell die on his lips, he watched Ike attack and the old man deflect. But a moment later, Soren was proven wrong, and the Daein general did fight back. He released a surprisingly rapid flurry of swipes and strikes with both ends of his lance. Ike dodged and parried until the onslaught ended. The old man looked pleased.

This condescension annoyed Soren enough to interfere after all. He shot two wind spells in quick succession, but the old man was spry for his age (especially considering his heavy armor) and pirouetted away from the gusts.

“No, Soren!” Ike cast out his hand before he could utter a third spell. “This guy’s mine!”

He had expected such a response, and now that the order had been explicitly given, he didn’t try to attack the general again. He merely watched them fight, wondering why this general would bother testing Ike—acting like this was some sort of game—when his soldiers were dying behind him.

Eventually Ike realized something was wrong too. “What is it?” he asked in annoyance. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I am Tauroneo, a general of Daein,” the old man announced. He immediately planted the butt of his lance on the ground and moved his shield to the side. It wasn’t the posture of a man who wanted to fight, so Ike, naturally, didn’t attack. “Young general of Crimea,” Tauroneo said, “I have but one question to ask you. Your swordsmanship is familiar… Who taught you to fight in this way? To the best of my knowledge, that style was used by only one man, an old friend mine.”

“My father,” Ike answered. “He taught me to use a sword.” Although he didn’t strike, he still refused to stow his blade. Soren appreciated his prudence.

“Is that so? Then you are Gawain’s son…”

The tip of Ike’s sword fell to the ground. “Wait, are you a friend of my father’s?”

Tauroneo laughed despite the number of ebon soldiers being slain around him. Leaning his lance again his shield arm, he removed his helmet. “We were good friends…long ago. How is the old goat?”

Ike finally sheathed his sword. He shook his head, and his face contained a hint of his old grief. “My father is dead. He was defeated and slain by a Daein general.” His eyes found Tauroneo’s, and Soren saw accusation there.

“That can’t be!” he seemed genuinely surprised and saddened. “For the Gawain I knew to be beaten… Who was it? Who took him down?”

“A knight encased in black armor,” was Ike’s reply.

“The Black Knight…” Tauroneo frowned. “I did not now his strength had grown so much…” He seemed suddenly puzzled, and with his lance still abandoned in the crook of his arm, he stroked his beard. Ike said nothing, and Tauroneo suddenly changed the subject: “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have one sister,” Ike answered evenly. Soren was glad the question hadn’t caught him off guard. 

“In that case, I will not fight you. The world must not lose Gawain’s style of swordsmanship. You two must survive.” Tauroneo immediately emptied his arms of his lance, his helmet, and his massive shield. They fell to the ground in an enormous clatter, and the battle pulled to a halt as everyone turned to look. “I surrender!” Tauroneo announced loud enough for his troops to hear. “You may lock me away, execute me, or do what you will. I care not.” Dropping to one knee, Tauroneo offered his wrists.

Ike was clearly taken aback. “Are you sane?”

“Very much so.” Tauroneo replied somberly. “I had already decided that I would die in this place. I have served this country for many years—since the time of the previous king. But the current regent… He rules through fear and wants nothing but war. I can abide it no longer.”

Soren was pleased by this sudden turn of events. At the old general’s word, several of the surviving soldiers had dropped their weapons in surrender. Others had panicked and fled—some to the other end of the hall, as if intending to escape, and others through the nearest door. These, it would seem, were retreating to the next battlefield.

“Let them go!” called Titania when a few mercenaries made to pursue. Soren agreed with her quick judgment. They had more pressing matters to deal with, because those who hadn’t retreated were fighting again—shooting arrows and slashing swords into the nearest distracted mercenary.

However, their instincts had been honed by months of war, and they were not easily caught unawares. Soren doubted anyone would be gravely injured, and so he didn’t feel obligated to aid in the suppression of the survivors. For now, he was far more interested in the ongoing dialogue between Ike and Tauroneo.

“If you plan on dying anyway,” Ike finally said, “join us.” He stepped forward and offered a hand. “We have need of strength such as yours.”

Soren winced at the ease with which his friend offered to trust his enemies. It wasn’t the course of action he would have suggested. If Tauroneo was surrendering, he would serve them better as a prisoner to be interrogated than an armed soldier who could stab them in the back.

“You would take a former Daein general?” he asked, apparently just as surprised as Soren. “I cannot. Your fellow Crimeans would resist. They would never accept it.”

“Our army does not have the luxury of being so picky.” Ike returned with an encouraging smile. “Please…lend us your strength.”

Tauroneo took a deep breath and let his gaze drift over the battlefield. Rising to his feet, he turned to watch the battle coming to a close behind him. “As you will,” he finally answered. “I’ve already thrown my life away. If it can serve you somehow, you may use me as you see fit.” He bowed his head, and when he raised it again, he accepted Ike’s handshake.

When this was done, Tauroneo gestured at the now-open doors at the end of the hall. “The throne room is not far now. I take it that is where you want to go?”

Ike nodded firmly, but he didn’t ask the ex-general who he would find there. Instead he took his leave of Tauroneo. Rejoining the others, he exchanged quick words with Titania. Soon the two disappeared through the open door left by the escaping soldiers, leading the mercenaries to whatever end this maze had in store.

However, Tauroneo was lingering, so Soren lingered to. The man picked up his lance and shield once more, and Soren was careful not to get too close. Eventually he spoke: “You’re a bit young to be a Crimean soldier, aren’t you?” he said, appraising him.

“Our army is not comprised of Crimean soldiers,” Soren replied, refusing to acknowledge the comment about his age.

The ex-general didn’t push the issue. “You remained here and listened to the conversation between me and Gawain’s son, why?”

Soren narrowed his eyes. “I am duty-bound to protect Ike. Those who distract him with words pose a threat.”

“Then the lad is lucky to have you watching out for him.” Tauroneo nodded amiably.

“More importantly, I wished to ask you something.” Soren took a deep breath. “Is King Daein here?”

Tauroneo seemed genuinely saddened. “I didn’t have the heart to warn Gawain’s son, but nay… He is not. He never returned from Crimea. I am sorry, but there is nothing for you to win this day.”

“I expected as much.” For a moment Soren listened to the sound of fighting coming from the corridor, to be sure his comrades hadn’t gone too far. Even if Ashnard wasn’t here, Lehran’s Medallion might be. “Do you know what weapon awaits us ahead?”

“Weapon?” Tauroneo repeated. He didn’t seem confused, but rather interested by Soren’s word choice.

“I do not believe these soldiers fight so confidently to their deaths because they take satisfaction in the fact that we are unable save Crimea. They are convinced Daein will not fall… So I ask again, what ultimate weapon could be waiting for us in the throne room?”

Tauroneo pulled his face in sympathetic pain. “She is not a weapon but a monster. One who has threatened to devour anyone who retreats or surrenders…and who has promised to devour their enemies, so that their sacrifices will not be in vain.”

Soren waiting for a more substantial response. He didn’t appreciate riddles.

“I heard once that their weakness is lightning.” The old general raised an eyebrow meaningfully. “You may want to hurry. Gawain’s son will need you at the front.”

Soren may not have liked riddles, but he understood this one. He nodded once to affirm his understanding and then chased after the other mercenaries. Behind him, he heard the clank of the general’s armor as he jogged to keep up, but the suspicious new recruit wasn’t his concern now. As relieved as he was to hear that General Ena wasn’t wielding the medallion, she would still be a devastating opponent. Ike would need Soren’s help, and he’d just let him charge toward the throne room on his own. 


	6. CHAPTER 37: DRAGONS

Hindered by the Daein soldiers bent on skewering him, Soren was one of the last to reach the front. He arrived in the foyer outside the throne room just in time to see the other mercenaries pour through the wide-open doors. He was relieved to see Ike had mobilized them into an offensive wedge before storming the room, but it appeared this was his one and only attempt at caution. He charged without even giving his troops a chance to rest and heal.

Soren rushed to his side, knowing he would be at the point of the wedge. He raced to tell him of the danger, but he was only a few steps into the throne room before he saw it was too late. Ike surely knew now. Everyone knew.

An enormous, glittering dragon towered over the throne dais. On its hind legs, it stood over twenty feet tall. When it saw them enter, it released a jet of flame that seemed to raise the room’s temperature like an oven. Dropping to all fours, its weight shook the floor and its claws tore trenches into the courtly tiles.

The mercenaries slowed, and Ike—the only one who didn’t balk—pulled away from the main group. As the others quieted, Ike’s unrelenting voice grew clearer. After hesitating like the rest, Soren forced himself to run even faster. He scolded himself for his surprise, blaming it on the unexpected color. Tauroneo’s hint had indicated a dragon laguz of Goldoa, not that the reptile would be, from head to toe, entirely pink.

“A dragon? A pink dragon?” exclaimed Boyd as he ran beside Soren.

Ike was already trading blows with the first row of soldiers. The mercenaries soon reached him and then surpassed him by plowing through two entire rows of Daein pikemen. Soren helped by conjuring a few spells in the enemy ranks before presenting himself by Ike’s side.

He was panting hard. Blood soaked his teeth and dribbled over his lip. “Ashnard!” he roared. “Show yourself!” There was no response except for the dragon pulling itself back to standing height. The battle slowed as each side waited for their leaders to speak.

“A Goldoan dragon?” Ike shouted, addressing the beast.

“My name is Ena,” came the dragon’s response. The voice was female. “By the orders of the King, I am the protector of this capital.”

“Withdraw!” was Ike’s response. By now the fighting had completely stopped. “I’ve no desire to fight a useless battle with you. It’s Ashnard I’m after.”

Soren was proud of Ike’s inclination to avoid conflict with Goldoa. They certainly didn’t want to go to war with the dragon tribe. That being said, Ena was probably like Nasir in that she’d severed ties to her homeland.

“I regret to inform you that the king is not here,” Ena answered.

“What?” Ike demanded.

“The king and the body of the Daein Army remain in Crimea, where they have been since it fell.” Ena’s tone didn’t sound saddened, angry, or gloating, and her reptilian facial expression was difficult to read.

“What are you saying?” Ike demanded furiously. “The king abandoned the capital? He abandoned his whole nation?”

Ena closed her eyes. “…I share your desire to see this conflict end. So rather than see you travel to Crimea to fight Ashnard, I believe it would be much faster for me to defeat you and your army here. Don’t you agree?” She opened her eyes again.

Her challenge was obviously meant to be taunting, and yet there had been no malice in her voice. Ena, it seemed, was here on business. She would defend this castle, but there was no contempt for the Crimeans in her position.

Ike didn’t seem to pick up on this. “That’s one way to look at it,” he replied, “The problem is I’ll never let you do as you please with Crimea!” The others cheered at his words.

“We cannot have it both ways,” replied the dragon general. “We both want what is in our own interest, and that is why we have conflict. If neither of us will yield, our conflict will continue until only the stronger of us remains. I have my own reasons for fighting…” She adjusted her stance and the position of her wings. “And I will see you fall.”

It was strange to hear such logical words spoken calmly from the mouth of an enormous lizard, and Soren shook his head to rid his mind of them. He couldn’t let himself get distracted now. Ena screeched again, which appeared to be an order for her soldiers to resume fighting.

Ike released a roar of his own, raised his sword, and plunged back into the fray. The Daeins had rebuilt their shield wall, but with the help of Gatrie, Devdan, and Nephenee, Ike was able to break through their defenses with practiced ease. Soren and the other mercenaries poured through the opening and soon dissolved the soldiers’ proud rank and file.

The dragon general had clearly deployed her strongest forces here in the throne room, and every bit of Soren’s attention and energy was required just to stay alive. He cast the most advanced spells in his arsenal: Elwind, Elfire, and a couple renditions Tornado, although few remained. He knew his magic power was dwindling, but he also knew he would need it to help Ike defeat the dragon.

“Are we facing Goldoa now too?” Ike asked, while trading blows with a Daein axman.

“I don’t think so,” Soren panted in reply, giving himself a break from chanting spells. “The dragon tribe is known for its strict neutrality.”

“She doesn’t look very neutral to me,” Ike replied. He gripped the soldier’s helmet with his free hand, pulling him down and to the side, where he kneed him hard in the groin and tossed him to the ground. Rolf’s arrow found its mark, and the axman didn’t rise again. Ike stomped toward the dragon, and Soren followed.

“For now we must assume she is a free agent, like Nasir.” _Very much like Nasir,_ he added mentally, but now wasn’t the time for accusations. He saw an enemy archer taking aim at Ike and shot a wind spell before he could loose an arrow.

“We have to take her down if we are to win,” Ike said, just as a Daein swordswoman dashed up to him and sliced at his legs. He jumped to avoid the attack and lost no time returning the blow.

“I have a plan,” Soren replied before engulfing a heavily armored knight in a blaze of Elfire. He fueled the spell as long as he could, heating the armor to do the most damage.

“Well,” Ike answered, “Get it into action quick. I’m taking her now.”

“Now?” Soren asked in alarm. He let the spell fade, and the man clattered to the ground with the sound of screaming sobs coming from his helmet. His armor was still red hot, and although the leather straps were disintegrating, the metal plates stayed in place where they’d melted into his clothes and skin.

“If we let her advance, her soldiers will trap us and she’ll roast us alive!” Ike was dashing away before he’d even delivered the final word of warning.

“Ike, wait!” Soren called, but he didn’t come back. Although he knew Ike’s judgment was current, they were already deep behind enemy lines, and he wished he would demonstrate more caution.

The mercenaries were as attuned to their commander’s movements as ever, and they pushed to follow and defend him. They made an aisle through the Daein hoard despite the risk of becoming overwhelmed and fought relentlessly.

Soren took stock of this and immediately set about enacting his plan. “Ilyana! Tormod! Calill!” He pronounced each name as loudly and clearly as he could, willing his words to be heard over the battle. “Ilyana! Tormod! Calill! To Ike! To Ike!” Whether they could hear him or not, word was passed along, and soon the three mages were racing toward the wayward commander alongside him.

“What’s the plan?” Tormod asked excitedly. Muarim was loping beside him, which was unsurprising since he rarely let his adopted son out of his sight during battle.

They reached Ike—or as close to Ike as they could get without meeting the swing of his blade. Soren pulled to a stop. “Do you carry Thunder spells?” he asked before casting Elwind at a spearman behind Ilyana. 

She nodded energetically. “And Elthunder _,_ always.”

Tormod shook his head. “I don’t carry any, but I can use Thunder spells if you lend me some.” Ilyana ripped a few pages from her tome to give to him. Meanwhile Muarim defended the boy. The lithe green tiger lunged and batted at two Daein swordsmen just beside them, but neither Tormod nor Ilyana seemed concerned by the danger.

As for Calill, she bobbed her head in answer. “While I’m usually a fire gal myself, I come prepared to these parties.” She tapped the spine of her tome meaningfully. Just then, Shinon shot an arrow through the ear of an archer taking aim behind her. The soldier fell, and Calill offered a flirtatious smile as a thank you. Soren couldn’t see Shinon’s face to gauge his response, but a moment later, he was feathering a new opponent. Calill returned her attention to the conversation. “You were thinking of using lightning on that beast, weren’t you?” She jerked her chin at the giant pink lizard.

“It may be our only chance to slay it.” Soren avoided the slash of an axeblade, and the four mages shuffled away as Brom caught the next blow and took the opponent as his own.

When they stopped again, Ilyana was even paler than usual. She glanced at the dragon, which was so close now. “I-I don’t think I can get close enough. What if it shoots its fire at me?”

Calill didn’t seem certain either. “It takes more than mere elemental leverage to handle a beast like that.”

Ike dashed up to them, injecting himself between Soren and Calill. “Is that true, Soren—about the lightning?”

“It is our best option.”

Ike cast his gaze over the three mages, giving each one his best encouraging smile. “Then you are going to do as he says,” he said as if it were simple. “Ever since we met those dragons in Goldoa, I’ve known there would be a time when I’d have to face one of them. But I was wrong. I’m not strong enough for that yet, not on my own. If you can attack without getting in range of its claws—well, you have to do it, right?”

Once again, Soren was awed by the effect Ike could have on people. Ilyana, Calill, and Tormod were instantly revitalized. Tormod saluted. Ilyana clutched her tome to her chest and stood straighter. Calill’s posture relaxed, and she rested a hand on her hip.

“Lead the way, General,” she laughed, flicking open her tome with one hand.

Ike grinned and jerked his head in a nod. Then he turned around and charged straight toward Ena’s dais. Soren and the other mages were hot on his heels.

There were no Daein soldiers near the dragon (perhaps keeping a safe distance), and those they ran past didn’t pursue or make any significant attempt to stop them. Perhaps they didn’t think they posed a serious threat to their laguz general. Considering his and Tormod’s height, Ike’s youth, Ilyana’s apparent frailty, and Calill’s eccentric clothing—Soren could understand their lack of fear.

“If you had wished to extend your short life span, then you should not have appeared before me,” Ena warned through scaly lips.

Soren, Ilyana, Tormod, and Calill pulled to a stop while Ike kept going. They were where they needed to be to cast their spells, leaving the close combat to their commander. Soren immediately fell into verse, chanting Thunder spells as fluidly as he could. The others were chanting just as breathlessly. Lightning may have been Soren’s weakest element, but he willed the thunder spirits to obey him now more than ever. He ignored the others so their incantation wouldn’t distract his tongue, and he concentrated hard on where he wanted the bolts to strike.

Spears of crackling yellow, white, and blue electricity began falling on the scaly beast, and she winced and roared with each salvo. In retaliation, she began shooting jets of red flame in their direction. Soren and the others scattered but continued to utter spells between dodging, running, tripping, and rolling from her blasts. (A mage’s work was not always graceful.)

Ike, meanwhile, was preventing her from leaving the dais. His sword fended off her tail, claws, and teeth. Whenever he had an opening, he tried to slice and stab her belly, forelegs, and neck. But Soren could tell even from a dozen yards away that her scales were like armor. Only when they weakened a spot with a direct thunderbolt could Ike’s thrust sink true.

After a few successful hits from Ike, it was clear they’d bloodied her, but she seemed more irritated than injured. She shot a quick burst at Calill, whose skirt and legs caught fire. She ran screaming to put out the flames, and the battle swallowed her.

Soren was sorry to see her go, because she was the second-best thunder summoner next to Ilyana and they were all reaching their limit. He was soaked with sweat, and breathing had become painful. He couldn’t catch his breath; he was stumbling more. His arms and legs felt like logs, and his skull was splitting in pain. His spells were already becoming weaker, and if he kept going like this, he wouldn’t be able to conjure them at all. If he wasn’t careful, the overextension could knock him out, and this was no place for a nap. But he didn’t know quite what to expect, or when his body would fail him, because he’d never tested his power like this before. Glancing around, he suspected Ilyana and Tormod were in the same state and weighing the same possibility as they struggled to stay on their feet. 

Before long, Ilyana fainted. Fortunately, Kieran was nearby, and he scooped her up and galloped to safety before Ena could crush her. A jet of flame followed them, singing the tail of Kieran’s steed. But both escaped, and Ike soon distracted Ena again.

Only Soren and Tormod remained, and neither were adept with thunder magic. Ena’s movements were slowing, and she was bleeding freely, clearly feeling the culminative effect of their attacks. But Ike was staggering too. He couldn’t move fast enough to stop the dragon’s tail as it swooped past him and knocked Tormod to the ground. The young mage fell hard, and his head hit the floor with a sickening crack. He didn’t move again, but Muarim was on him in an instant. The tiger reverted his form, picked up the boy, and ran toward Rhys as fast as his two legs could carry him. Now only Soren remained—Soren and Ike.

“Keep it up!” Ike called. “It’s working!”

Soren grunted his agreement, clearing his throat and resuming his chant. Ike’s sword had been hardly more than a stinging bee to Ena, while the sporadic cracks of lightning had clearly rattled her. Each strike tore bloody scales and wrathful roars from her body, creating an opening for Ike to do more damage.

Finally, one of her hindlegs gave out. She slipped to the floor, slamming heavily into dais steps. Ike was on her in an instant, sinking his sword to its hilt in her chest and drawing it out again. The dragon shrieked and transformed, shrinking into a slim young woman with pink hair.

Soren limped up the steps, which were now slick with dragon’s blood, to inspect the enemy general more closely. She was bleeding heavily from a wound on the left side of her chest, but the size of the puncture seemed to have shrunken in proportion to her body. Ike seemed to have missed her heart, and Soren wondered if that was on purpose.

Ena tried to stand but fell. Her dusky skin was quickly growing paler as she lost precious lifeblood. “You are strong,” she gasped, “I have lost.”

“Then calm yourself and surrender,” Ike said, kneeling. He jerked his sword toward her, and the general winced. But Ike was merely using it to start a tear in her tunic. Tossed the blade aside, he tore the cloth the rest of the way. Removing her hands from the wound, he bound it himself. “There’s no reason for you to die.” She said nothing, at first appearing astonished and then merely gritting her teeth as he worked. He cut a long sheet of cloth from his cape to further wrap her chest and shoulder.

Soren considered telling Ike not to waste his strength on the enemy, but this woman could prove useful. At the very least, she could answer their questions about Ashnard’s whereabouts and why King Daein would ally himself with dragons and ravens. So he remained silent and examined the mysterious Goldoan. Like Nasir and the other dragons they’d met, she could pass as beorc. Only her laguz markings betrayed her. She had a small, inverted teardrop-like shape beneath each eye and another mark in the center of the forehead.

She struggled to rise again. “That I cannot do,” she finally answered. She’d barely risen before she fell again.

“What?” Ike asked, “Surrender?”

“I… I must go to him…” Her voice was weak, but her next attempt at standing came strong and fast. Soren lunged forward, half-convinced she had a weapon. But she was merely pushing Ike away, and his interference only caused them both to get shoved. Ike seemed as surprised by her strength as Soren, and each lost their balance. Ena was on her feet, and she didn’t falter this time. Soren tried to grab her legs and Ike her arm, but she evaded them, throwing herself down the dais steps.

“No! Wait!” Ike called, getting to his feet. “Somebody, catch her!”

The mercenaries tried to heed their commander’s call, but they were also taking care of the remaining soldiers. There was a mad scramble of confusion as the Daeins saw their general fleeing and the mercenaries attempted to seize her.

Ena used the confusion to her advantage and avoided capture as if it were a dance. Soren and Ike stood atop the dais for several moments, frozen as they watched these antics. When it became clear she could very well escape, they gave chase on their own. Soren didn’t think he had the energy to run anymore, but at the thought of this enigmatic general disappearing—and losing the information she could impart—Soren found he had more strength left.

She reached the throne room’s exit before they could reach her, but here she collided with another body. To Soren’s astonishment, Nasir stood in the doorway. His expression was stony and guarded. “Nasir! Good timing. Grab her, will you?” Ike panted, slowing down.

Soren slowed down too and wondered if he should attack both dragons right now. Ike didn’t seem concerned that Nasir wasn’t supposed to be here. He should have been in the main bailey with the princess and the rest of the army, not traipsing around the castle on his own. Soren didn’t like this.

“I am sorry, Ike.” Nasir’s tone did sound genuinely remorseful, but that did little to alleviate Soren’s bad feeling.

“Nasir?” Ike finally seemed to realize something was wrong—and he wasn’t the only one. Titania came to stand beside him, and the room fell silent as the mercenaries and Daein prisoners watched.

In answer to these many questioning faces, Nasir placed himself in front of Ena.

“No!” Ike drew his sword and rushed forward.

Ena took a few steps back, but Nasir didn’t move. He easily blocked Ike’s strike by seizing his wrist. With his other arm, he jabbed Ike’s shoulder, just below his pauldron, and shoved him sharply with an open palm. Nasir must have been stronger than he looked, because Ike staggered backward. When he swung again, Nasir ducked low to avoid the blade, hooked a foot behind Ike’s heel, grabbed the neck of his shirt, and threw him onto the ground. When he made to rise, Nasir kicked his chin back, knocking his head into the floor. He then stepped back, as if showing mercy.

“Ike!” Soren cried. Fortunately, he was still conscious, and he and Titania helped him to his feet. 

“Nasir! What are you doing?” Titania demanded, drawing her poleaxe. 

Ignoring her, the dragon spoke over his shoulder to Ena: “Go now. Hurry!”

She hesitated, glancing from Nasir to Ike, who was clearly about to charge again. Then she ran into the foyer and down the west hall, hugging her wounded chest with one arm and limping only slightly.

Ike closed the distance between Nasir and himself, raising his sword to his neck. But the dragon didn’t fight back this time. He merely spread his arms wide as if refusing to let him pass. “So you were the traitor?” Ike demanded, shaking with rage. Soren was surprised—this was the first time Ike had actually admitted there was a traitor.

Ena’s footsteps faded until they became inaudible. Only now did Nasir drop his arms.

Ike didn’t lower his blade, but neither did he insert it into the dragon’s jugular. “Someone’s been giving information to the enemy. Was that you?” He added more quietly: “And…Mist’s medallion?”

Nasir still didn’t reply. He stared over Ike’s shoulder into the middle distance, his face impassive.

This was all but a confession to Ike. “Are you telling me you’ve been working for Daein this whole time?” he growled. “But you’re laguz! Why? Talk to me!”

Still, Nasir said nothing.

“Bah, this is useless!” Ike turned his back and sheathed his sword. “Get him out of here,” he ordered with a wave of his hand. “His traitorous face is making me ill!”

Titania obeyed his command, and Tanith stepped up to help her. Nasir didn’t give them trouble as they bound his wrists and forced him to kneel. But he did say one more thing. “Go to Palmeni Temple,” he whispered, although the words were clearly meant for Ike.

“What did you say?” Ike rounded on him.

But his face had become stony once more, and he didn’t say anything else.

“Palmeni, I think he said,” Titania offered unhelpfully. “Palmeni Temple.”

“But what and where is that?” Ike snarled.

Both Titania and Tanith shook their heads apologetically.

“Nasir, what do you mean?” Ike asked. “Nasir!”

Still the dragon said nothing.

“Take him to the dungeons with the rest.” He turned away again, and this time Nasir said nothing to call him back. “Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Soren shook his head. “I have not heard of such a place, but I will see what I can find out.”

Ike walked past him with only the barest acknowledgment. Perhaps he’d known of his suspicions against Nasir and resented him for being right. Soren was a little hurt by the gruff treatment. After all, he hadn’t betrayed anyone. Then again, he had also failed to prevent Nasir’s betrayal, and perhaps that failure was just as damning.

With a sigh, Soren took stock of the room. The battle was over. Mist was crying faintly while she healed Janaff’s wing, but everyone else was silent. The Daein prisoners, kneeling in a circle on the other side of the room, began murmuring among themselves, but Shinon cuffed the loudest. “Shut it!” he barked, and the murmuring stopped.

Soren looked for Volke and Sothe. Neither were so injured that they couldn’t go after Ena, so he ordered them to follow her trail and search the castle. They obeyed and disappeared down the corridor. He was not optimistic that they would find her. Surely she knew of an escape route, and even with her wounds she’d been able to move swiftly.

Forcing himself to move on to the next task, Soren found Ike again. Together they ordered those who were least injured to find a way to break the locks and barricades between them and the rest of the army. Their next priority was assuring the princess was safe. Another team was sent to find a way to the dungeons.

Once this was done, he and Ike helped escort the Daein prisoners to their cells. Soren made sure Nasir was given his own, separate from the rest, and Ike assigned Stefan and Astrid to the first guard shift.

It was then that Marcia found them. “We’ve reunited with the main force!” she reported. “There has been a battle, but the princess is okay.” Her words came in a rush, and as soon as she was finished, Ike dashed off.

“It’s this way!” Marcia called. Racing ahead, she directed him down the correct corridor.

Soren was thoroughly exhausted and thought he’d saved himself from any more running today, but apparently he’d been wrong. He chased after them both, determined to be of service at this crucial juncture. They needed to secure their victory over Nevassa Castle, while also dealing with their strange defeat. Ashnard was, by all accounts, not here. Crimea was not saved. Nasir had betrayed them, and Lehran’s Medallion was still missing. The future of the Crimea Liberation Army was uncertain, and Ike would need Soren’s aid now more than ever.

As Marcia had reported, there was evidence of a large battle in the main courtyard, and just as she’d said, Elincia had survived unharmed. However, Ike didn’t seem capable of believing such a thing until he saw it with his own eyes.

The princess ran to him, her hair slightly disheveled and her cheeks flushed. They clasped arms, and she described the battle in an exhilarated voice. Ike listened attentively and shared the mercenaries’ side of things.

Soren half-listened, but he could tell what had happened just by looking around. A portion of the Daein garrison had attacked the Begnion troops. The lieutenant Ike left in charge had defended the princess and the convoy properly. It appeared between two hundred and three hundred soldiers had perished. Additional Daeins had been taken prisoner, and the gates were now open.

Soren ventured beyond the castle wall to survey the plaza and main avenue. Both were still empty and silent. Turning back to the castle, he saw Daein flags being replaced with the Crimean ones they’d carried all the way from Begnion. The Daein people would get the message soon enough.


	7. CHAPTER 38: CONQUEST

The Crimea Liberation Army took control of the capital. The poor folk finally emerged from their hovels, and some townspeople returned to the city with their tails between their legs. Elincia made a public announcement that they meant the citizenry no harm and would reward anyone who came forward with useful information. But no one did.

The mercenaries, laguz, and surviving Begnion soldiers made themselves comfortable within the castle walls. There was food in the kitchens, fresh water in the wells, baths and beds aplenty, and storerooms packed with any supplies they might need. Days passed, and most of the mercenaries and soldiers focused on recovering after the grueling battle.

But Soren didn’t have that luxury. He organized the interrogation of prisoners (which included the surrendered soldiers, the castle staff, and Nasir of course), but to no avail. He continued search efforts for Ena, but she seemed long gone. He visited the castle library repeatedly, looking for anything about Palmeni Temple, records of Daein military and government officials (to be sure they’d defeated or imprisoned anyone who would oppose them), and anything else that could shed light on Ashnard’s strategy or goals. Unfortunately, he found nothing of significant use.

Most of all, he met with Ike, Elincia, and the rest of the army’s leadership as they attempted to plan their next move. The only course of action now seemed to be marching on Crimea directly, the very thing they’d hoped to avoid by taking Daein. Approaching from the east was better than arriving by sea, but their modest army had been decimated by the invasion. With less than eight hundred troops remaining, they would be hard-pressed to defend Nevassa Castle if they were attacked, let alone fight their way into Crimea and dislodge the king.

The latest report from Begnion intelligencers indicated that Daein was preparing to invade Gallia, corroborating Nasir’s claim. This meant time was running out if they wanted to defeat Ashnard before he struck the beast kingdom. On the other hand, if they waited, they would have a better chance of retaking Crimea after Ashnard had already moved the bulk of his armies into Gallia.

When Soren suggested the latter, Ike and Elincia adamantly refused. “King Caineghis is my ally,” the princess said with her hands balled into fists, “I will not use his people’s peril to my advantage!”

He countered by pointing out that they couldn’t count on Gallia’s help in retaking Crimea. After all, Nasir had been their point of contact with the beast nation and he’d turned out a traitor. But Ike and the others still had faith in the laguz. Titania suggested they ask Lethe and Mordecai for their perspective, and the pair soon reported to the parlor that had become their strategy headquarters.

“The King will stand by his vow to Princess Elincia,” Lethe said, “But the beast lords owe her nothing. If Daein’s Mad King is planning to attack Gallia, they may refuse to weaken their defenses by moving their armies into Crimea.”

Mordecai bobbed his head in time with her words. “We cannot know what they will decide,” he added unhelpfully.

Ike dismissed them and next summoned Reyson and the hawk laguz. Janaff sat down gingerly and was apologetic in his response: “As of now, Phoenicis isn’t directly implicated in King Daein’s shenanigans, right?” His voice contained only a shade of its usual brightness. “I think the King did all he could by sending us along to help.” Ulki and Reyson agreed, and Ike sighed. He thanked them for their continued aid and dismissed them too.

Finally Ike called in Tanith, asking if she thought Sanaki would send them more troops. “I cannot speak on behalf of the Apostle,” she answered, “Nor do I know her mind. But I can write to Commander Sigrun and ask that she speak to her.”

“I have drafted a letter to Empress Sanaki,” Elincia replied, “But if you could send your own missive, I would be most grateful.”

Tanith saluted, and Ike dismissed her. He obviously wasn’t heartened by the idea of letters being exchanged. He wanted action, not waiting.

“We must not allow the troops to lose morale while we wait for our next opportunity to present itself,” Soren advised. “You must raise their spirits and their thirst for battle. Far too many were counting on this to be their last.”

Ike nodded once, furrowed his brow, and brought his hands together. For a moment, he looked just like Greil. “What do you suggest?”

Soren shook his head uncomfortably to indicate he had no specific suggestions, but Titania spoke up to save him:

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? We must throw a party!” She grinned widely at everyone assembled. “We must congratulate the troops for their hard work and celebrate our victory over Nevassa.”

Ike nodded twice in agreement. “Alright then, I think that could work.”

Elincia laughed. “What fun!”

Soren rolled his eyes. Even if this was more or less what he’d had in mind, he had no desire to be party-planner-in-chief. “While you do that, I will continue investigating our hostage options.”

Elincia’s mood darkened. “Hostage options?” she repeated.

Soren exhaled impatiently. Perhaps she hadn’t heard that particular word, but she knew the plan. “Clearly Ashnard does not care about his own nation and his people. We have sent him a letter demanding the exchange of Crimea for Daein, but we do not expect a response. Therefore, we need to find something that he does care about and use that as leverage instead.”

“Oh…right.” Elincia didn’t seem pleased by the prospect.

Ike frowned. He’d already made clear his distaste for this plan.

Soren found himself capitulating to their moral naivete. “Do not worry,” he said, “As far as I can tell, Ashnard has no family or anyone he can be said to ‘care’ about at all. It is unlikely we will find such a person. Invasion is still our best option.”

Elincia frowned again. Soren knew she hated the idea of invading her own country, but that was exactly why he’d phrased it that way. With that, Ike adjourned the meeting.

After Ike, Titania, and the Begnion lieutenants had gone, the princess approached him. “May I join you in the library today?” she asked. “I am a quick reader.”

“You are the princess,” he replied, “You can do anything you want.”

In response, she held her back straight and said pleasantly, “Then I shall be joining you in the library today. Please, after you.”

The library was exactly as he’d left it. Picking up the book he’d put down before the briefing, he resuming his search through the marriage, birth, and death records of the noble houses. He was attempting to reconstruct Ashnard’s misshapen family tree. The Gerent family and adjoining noble houses had been disproportionately affected by the plague twenty-one years ago, a twist that made it colloquially known as the King’s Plague. Thanks to the fallout, a young man named Ashnard—seventh in line for the throne—had been crowned king after his father’s untimely demise at the hand of petty assassin. In the years after the plague, a dozen other people with remote claims and tenuous attachments to the royal line had befallen freak accidents, faced fatal mistakes on the battlefield, or been robbed and killed by unknown brigands. In sum, Ashnard had no siblings, cousins, aunts or uncles, nor nieces or nephews to whom he might be partial.

“Are we looking for anyone in particular?” Elincia asked after the first quarter hour.

“Tauroneo said there were rumors of a wife in the early years of the king’s reign,” Soren answered without looking up.

“Daein has a queen? My father never mentioned-”

“Not a queen,” Soren cut her off. “A consort. Apparently she was married to the king but not coronated herself. Under Daein law, she didn’t have to be. The citizenry didn’t know about her, and she was never seen in public. After a while, she disappeared entirely. Now she is just a rumor.”

“Do you believe it?” Elincia asked, intrigued.

“I think it is unlikely such a woman exists, and even less likely we would be able to find her. Even if we did, there would be no guarantee Ashnard would be willing to give up his ambitions in Crimea and Gallia save just one person.”

“But that is the idea, isn’t it?” Elincia said hopefully. “If we find someone he loves?”

“You should know better than anyone what Mad King Ashnard is capable of.” Soren finally looked at her. “Do you think such a person exists?”

Elincia’s gaze dropped to the documents in front of her. “Perhaps not.”

Just then, Zihark came in. “Oh hello, Princess,” he said, clearly surprised to see her.

Elincia smiled magnanimously. “Ah, good to see you Sir Zihark. Are you recovering well?”

“Indeed I am,” he answered politely.

“I did not know you were a literary man,” she continued. “Have you come to read something?”

“Well, actually-”

“He comes to vandalize the books,” Soren explained. “It is his crusade to replace every instance of ‘subhuman’ with the term ‘laguz’ before we leave Nevassa.”

“It’s true.” Zihark smiled sheepishly. “I’m correcting history as I go, too.”

“It’s annoying.” Soren turned back to his work. “All I can hear is the scratch of his quill.”

“Well, I think that is a lovely idea!” Elincia exclaimed. “I do believe bigotry stems from ignorance. Please continue to correct these texts. If I come across any document with such derogatory language, I will send it your way.”

“Thank you, Princess.” With a small bow, Zihark took his place at the table just beside the one Soren and Elincia shared.

The library fell into silence, save for the thump of heavy volumes, the shuffle of scrolls, the crinkle of old pages, and of course, the definitive scratch of Zihark’s stylus as he vigorously marked up a pile of books.

“You know,” Elincia broke the silence after another quarter hour. “My father hid the documents of my own birth and those indicating that I was his chosen heir. He and my mother thought it better to wait and reveal these items when the court was, well…on steadier ground.”

Soren paused and leaned back in his chair. “You think Ashnard hid the records of his marriage?”

“I do,” Elincia answered resolutely.

“And do you have a suggestion where we should search?”

“Well, Father left one copy of the documents with me, so I might be able to prove my identity. And he entrusted the other copy with Uncle Renning.”

“So it is reasonable to assume the woman will have a copy with her, wherever she is, and a member of Ashnard’s court will have another?”

“I do not think her existence would only be a rumor if proof of her existence were available in the state library.”

“I don’t know,” Soren mused, “the people of Daein are not as well-read as those in Crimea. It’s possible no one thought anyone would come here to look.” His words were meant as a jest, but Elincia didn’t smile or laugh. On second thought, he didn’t know why he wanted her to. He grew serious again. “If you are right, then we must consider who Ashnard would trust with such a thing.”

“A man like Ashnard?” she touched her finger to her chin in an exaggeration of thinking. “I imagine the trivialities of paperwork are something he pushes onto his clerks and executors. It doesn’t need to be someone he trusts as much as Father trusted Uncle Renning, just someone he trusts to do their job.”

Soren was surprised by her insight. “We have locked up a handful of royal officials. But they were running the government on minimal staff while Ashnard was away—all we have are a few treasurers, clerks, and chamberlains. We could interrogate them again, specifically on this issue.”

“That may not be necessary,” Elincia replied with a smile. “Do we know which chambers used to be theirs? We need only search.”

Soren nodded, warming up to this plan. “I do not know, but we can find out. I’ll have Volke help us.”

Elincia stood, patting down her skirts. “You must be running up quite a bill for that man,” she joked.

“You have no idea.” Soren shook his head. “But he is well worth the expense.”

The unlikely trio spent the rest of the day searching, and Tauroneo ‘helped’ for a couple hours in the middle. He knew the castle better than any of them, but Soren still didn’t entirely trust him. While he helped, he also needed to be watched carefully, which meant wasted time.

By the end of the day, Soren had discovered secret love letters, hidden jewels, and evidence of miscellaneous bureaucratic crimes. But it was Volke who found what they were looking for.

“Secret compartment of a chest in a hidden room within locked quarters. That’s four locks, if you’re counting,” he said before handing Soren the roll of papers.

“I’m counting,” Soren assured dryly.

Elincia sidled up beside him, with her fingers were intertwined in excitement. “Oh, what does it say?”

Volke had already broken the seal, so Soren skimmed the documents as quickly as he could, aware that Elincia was doing the same. “So it is true,” he finally said.

“Lady Almedha?” Elincia read aloud. “No surname, and yet she has been affixed the title of lady. Was she a commoner?”

“Perhaps,” Soren replied. “That might explain why the marriage was kept under wraps.”

“A love marriage then? How romantic!”

“Remember who you’re talking about,” Soren shot back.

Elincia’s froze, and her face fell. “Oh, right.”

“There are other documents here.” Soren brought the other two sheets to the front and read them just as quickly. “The birth and death certificates of their unnamed child. They’re dated only five days apart, roughly two years after the marriage”

Elincia skimmed the documents and nodded. “Do you think they had any more children?”

“I don’t know, but there are no other birth certificates here, so it is unlikely.” He rolled up the documents again. “Tomorrow I will return to the library, to see if her name is mentioned in any directives Ashnard may have given. If he ferried her to safety or had her killed, there might be a military record of it.”

“Had her killed?” Elincia repeated in astonishment.

“She bore him a son, and the infant died. Past monarchs have considered that a crime punishable by death.”

“Centuries ago, surely!” Elincia scoffed.

“I would not put anything past the Mad King, would you?”

Elincia grew somber once more. “You don’t have to keep reminding me,” she said, looking at the floor. “I was there when he…when he attacked my home. I know what kind of man he is.” She raised her chin and met his gaze again. “But he is a man, not a monster. It helps me to remember that he is mortal, that he can be defeated.”

“Helps you do what?” Soren replied, not giving her the benefit of his sympathy.

“Ha,” Elincia let out an odd bark and pushed back a lock of her emerald hair. “Get by day to day?”

“Was that a question?”

“You know, I think it was.” She was smiling despite her wide eyes. She smoothed back the same lock of hair. “Thank you for your dedicated service, Sir Soren.” With a small shake of her head, she walked slowly away.

Soren watched her go and then turned to Volke, who’d melted into the room’s shadows. “Can I trust you not to go telling stories about the princess losing her mind?”

“I don’t think she’s losing anything,” Volke said softly, much to Soren’s surprise. “She seems to be handling everything that’s happened to her with remarkable elegance.”

“Oh, I hadn’t realized you’d stepped out,” Soren replied sarcastically. “I thought you’d caught that display.”

“You pushed her to show some of the emotion she keeps hidden,” Volke answered, leaning against the wall. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Since Soren didn’t know what he wanted, and because he wasn’t used to Volke giving opinionated responses, he left without another word.

Their search had ended just in time for Soren to bathe and dress for the night’s festivities. When Tauroneo had joined their search, he’d told them about Ike’s party plans, and Ike himself had appeared to ask occasional questions throughout the day. Due to these visits, Soren had a pretty good idea what to expect.

Apparently Titania had discovered a troupe of musicians in the Nevassan streets and escorted them to the castle, and Soren was almost sorry he hadn’t seen her march the terrified fiddlers through the front gate. (She was at her most frightening when she was excited about something.) Meanwhile, the rest of the mercenaries had helped prepare the feast. Oscar had lorded over the kitchen, and the strongest had heaved barrels of beer and mead out of the cellar. Some of the soldiers had sought permission to bring dancers and prostitutes into the castle, and Ike had permitted it as long as these civilians were searched for weapons and poison before entering. (Naturally, the soldiers had been elated that stripping the strippers had just become an assigned task).

By the time Soren entered the ballroom, everyone was drinking and laughing and the first plates of food were being carried in. The hall itself was indistinguishable from the battleground it had been just a few days ago. The floors had been washed of blood, the wyvern bone chandeliers had been lit, and the tables had been dragged into place.

Throughout the room, soldiers and mercenaries reminisced about past battles, told jokes, and shared stories. They sparred and danced, and in Mia’s case, these activities occurred at the same time, with or without a partner. Aimee and Calill jumped onto the tables to dance above everyone else, and Nephenee and Ilyana were just two of the unsuspecting victims dragged up to join them.

Most of the troops—most prolific of whom were Gatrie and Shinon—had already found local girls smitten with the conquering soldiers (or who at least pretended to be for a bit of coin). They draped their arms and legs over the men and women who bought their affection, and they danced and feasted as if they didn’t belong to the city that had just been conquered. Soren couldn’t fault them; they were adapting to survive, same as any intelligent creature.

While watching these antics, he ate his fill but didn’t drink any of the lager that splashed across the hall’s long tables. He didn’t take part in the dances nor the war ballads Kieran belted out. He stayed near the walls and doors, tracking who was coming and going. He watched his comrades make fools of themselves. This party was nothing but a temporary bandage over an untreated wound. It was distracting the soldiers from their fear, worry, grief, and disappointment. Perhaps the others needed this to keep them fighting another day, but Soren did not.

As the evening hours drew on, he stayed only to keep an eye on things. He watched Tauroneo to be sure the new recruit wasn’t acting suspiciously. He monitored Sothe and the friends he’d brought in from the streets to be sure they didn’t make off with the silverware. (And he was similarly watchful of Gatrie and Shinon’s girlfriends.) Most of all, he watched Ike and hoped the young commander knew not to have too much fun. Despite how much he’d grown this past year, his height and muscles didn’t change the fact that he was only seventeen and had little experience with alcohol. He was even less experienced with women, and Soren was relieved to see he wasn’t enticed by the prostitutes trying to swoon into his wallet. Nor did he seem affected by his comrades pressuring him into proving his manliness by bedding one of them.

That being said, Ike did seem to be enjoying himself. He was quick to smile, and his soldiers joked that their usually grim general had a secret fun side (while his friends retorted that it was no secret at all).

Lost in these thoughts and observations, he didn’t hear the soft approach of footsteps until their owner spoke: “You don’t fit in with this roving band of beorc, do you? Your stone sticks out from the wall.”

He jumped in surprise but quickly reclaimed himself. Stefan leaned against the threshold beside him. “Oh. It’s you again,” Soren noted disinterestedly. He’d made a habit of avoiding the hermit the entire campaign, despite his persistent attempts at conversation and camaraderie. Making excuses to leave had been easy when constant battles had occupied his time, but now Soren could think of no pretext for escape. Stefan was staring at him intently, so Soren turned his face to the party.

“Come down to the colony in the Grann Desert, when this is over. Others live there. Others like you” Stefan paused a moment, offering Soren the chance to say something, but he remained silent. “You know…the Branded.”

Soren twisted around, his mind and body revolting against that word. “I don’t know what you’re blabbing about, but you’re embarrassing yourself. I belong here, thank you.”

“I see…” Stefan sighed. Then he tugged his mouth into an appeasing smile and raised his palms. “Well, if that’s the case, I won’t twist your arm.”

Soren felt an overwhelming desire to stalk off, to put as much distance between them as possible. But he didn’t want to be the first one to move; that would be defeat. He glared at Stefan until he left the ballroom. When he was well and truly gone, Soren cursed the hermit and departed for his room. The entire walk back, his adrenaline surged and his fists clenched as waves of anger, hatred, fear, and disgust pulsed through him.

He had been able to avoid thinking about his mixed blood for months. All he’d had to do was focus on the war and exhaust himself each day so he could immediately fall into a dreamless sleep at night. But now he was thinking about it, and he couldn’t stop.

Lying in bed, he stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. Stefan’s words echoed in his mind. The hermit had confirmed he was a Branded himself, and he’d mentioned a colony back in the Grann where they’d found him. The idea caused a shiver to run over Soren’s arms and legs, and he clenched his coverlet tightly. A group of Branded living in the heart of Begnion had to be the surviving offspring of slaves. Apparently not all abominations had been exterminated. Images floated through his mind of marked children ganging together, and then those children growing into adults. Everything around them withered and died, and they drove everyone away—until they stood alone at the center of a desert.

 _No,_ Soren reprimanded his overactive imagination. _No. The Grann Desert is as old as Begnion itself. The Branded didn’t make it. I’m being a fool._ And yet the image lingered in his mind.

His thoughts churned in a different direction, and he began thinking about his own parents, not for the first time. He’d been raised by Galina here in Nevassa, which indicated Daein was the home of his beorc parent. But if so, what had the other—the subhuman—been doing here? Slavery had lasted in Daein for less than a hundred years, back when it had still been a territory of the Begnion Empire. And when it had been abolished, it had been no pleasant affair. All laguz had been killed, driven out, or sold off to slaveholders in Crimea or central Begnion. Hundreds of years later, the nation still prided itself on barring entrance to all laguz-kind.

Soren turned his mind to the state of Tellius at the time. In the three or so years before his birth, Begnion had freed its slaves, Crimea had begun an exchange program with Gallia, a plague had struck Daein, the Apostle had been assassinated, Serenes had been burned, and the herons had been massacred. It had been a tumultuous time for both races, and yet there was no reason a subhuman should have made its way into Daein only to spawn an unholy life.

Of course, there was another possibility. One of his parents could have been Branded too, whether they knew it or not. The curse spanned generations and could skip them. Soren wondered if a subhuman grandparent or great-grandparent was the source of his contamination. The thought was no less disgusting. He couldn’t imagine himself partnering with a beorc, even if he were interested in women. He was nothing like the people in the ballroom downstairs. As Stefan had pointed out, he didn’t belong among humans. He didn’t fit in.

Soren wondered, for the millionth time, if Galina had known what he was. He wondered why she’d taken him in. He wondered if she was still alive, and if so, if she might have the answers to his questions. Never in his life had he wanted to return to that miserable old woman. But here he was, only a few blocks away; he’d have to be a coward not to try.

The sun rose on a sleepy castle the next morning, and those hungover from last night’s festivities insisted on staying in bed. Those who’d been forced to wake for their guard shifts yawned and groaned at their posts. Soren passed them on his way to the state library in the castle’s northern wing. 

He’d woken early, after a terrible night’s rest, and at least the library promised a distraction. He read and re-read old records, but he had trouble concentrating and found no references to the king’s consort or dead child. With nothing else to do, he left the library and wandered the halls to get his thoughts in order before the day’s strategy meeting.

But his mind kept returning to Galina, and his plan to see her. He would have to leave the castle undetected and travel to the western slums without making a scene or being recognized. He would have to ask about Galina without seeming suspicious and return to the castle without anyone noticing his absence and wondering where he’d gone. 

Eventually the hour came for the meeting, and Soren was the first to arrive in their headquarters parlor. Not long after, Titania arrived, yawning. Then the Begnion lieutenants came trickling in. Elincia appeared, looking quite refreshed, and she was accompanied by a stern-looking Tanith. Finally Ike entered, appearing unusually disheveled. “Any news? Any new intel?” he began.

Titania shook her head. “There have been rumblings in the surrounding towns and among the townsfolk, but I do not expect violence to arise.”

Ike nodded and turned to Soren.

“The princess and I have ascertained that King Daein once had a consort, but her whereabouts are unknown and it appears she has not been seen in the capital in almost twenty years. I will continue to look into this if you wish, but I do not think it is a viable path for us.”

Ike nodded again. “Understood. Sounds like we should just let it go for now.” Silence stretched between them and it was Ike who eventually spoke again. “So what about that Palmeni Temple Nasir mentioned?” Soren could tell he was restless; he wanted to move, to fight.

He’d located the temple and done some cursory research, but finding nothing immediately suspicious, he’d avoided discussing the matter with Ike. He knew he would want to run off and explore it himself, but that was out of the question. Soren was considering how to explain that it was impossible to leave the castle unguarded (without making it sound like they were prisoners here) when Titania spoke up:

“I don’t think we can trust anything that traitor has to say.” Naturally, her reason was emotional rather than logical. 

Soren shook his head. “While not for the same emotionally-clouded reasons as Titania, I must assert that we have more important objectives at the moment. If I were one to rely on miracles, perhaps I would suggest visiting a temple, but that is not the case.”

Ike shook his head. “Fine, fine-”

He was cut off when a soldier suddenly burst into the room. “General Ike! Sir, reinforcements have arrived from Begnion!”

“Reinforcements?” Ike leapt to his feet. “I haven’t heard anything about this. Have you, Princess Elincia?”

“No, not a word.” Getting to her feet, Elincia stood with her hands pressed against the center of her chest.

Soren stood as well, and his mind was already churning.

“Are you sure they’re Begnion troops?” Ike asked, echoing Soren’s thoughts.

“Yes, sir!” the soldier replied enthusiastically. “They fly the imperial insignia. There can be no doubt of their authenticity. And the man in command is one of Begnion’s most beloved heroes, General Zelgius! There’s no mistaking him, sir!”

“Allow me to meet with him first,” Ike said, tightening his sword belt and straightening his clothes. Soren could tell by the brightness in his eyes that he was trying not to get his hopes up, but there was no hiding his relief.

Titania looked unabashedly hopeful, and Elincia appeared dumbstruck. Soren knew what they were thinking—this could be the godsend they were waiting for.

But Soren had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. As he counted the days it would take to march here from Begnion and re-counted that number into the past, he realized Sanaki must have deployed the army when they’d been struggling through swamplands weeks ago. And she had sent them without first sending word. This was an army designed to finish the job—to seize Daein for Begnion if Crimea failed to win it for itself.

But Crimea had succeeded, and now the Begnion army was here anyway. Soren wondered if they would still try to take the prize they’d come for. He wondered if this General Zelgius would feign friendship, and if he did, would Ike and the others believe it?


	8. CHAPTER 39: GENERAL ZELGIUS

Soren, Ike, Titania, Elincia, Tanith, and the other lieutenants arrived in time to see the man who must be General Zelgius marching down Nevassa’s main street with a massive army walking behind him in columns five abreast. Zelgius strode comfortably enough, but the soldiers behind him marched in perfect unison.

Unlike the Begnion troops under Ike’s command, every one of these soldiers was dressed from head to toe in gleaming red armor. Every plate was newly polished and un-scuffed. The horses were freshly groomed, their manes cut in the military style, and their tails bobbed. Their freshly shod hooves clopped rhythmically on the road.

Behind Zelgius marched two standard-bearers, and the man himself was wearing elegantly designed custom armor, although the color was still unmistakably Begnion crimson. He wore a long gold cape and no helmet. A two-handed broadsword was attached to his hip. His hair was blue-black, his eyes narrow, and his cheekbones high. He was clean-shaven and looked surprisingly young despite his size and bearing.

When he came to a halt in front of the main gates, the Begnion commanders snapped to attention, and their posture oozed a sickly kind of respect they’d never shown Ike. 

“I beg your pardon,” General Zelgius said, and Soren wasn’t surprised to hear he spoke with the enunciation of a noble. “Are you General Ike?”

“I am.” Ike’s body language was respectful but cautious. His hand rested on his belt, not far from the hilt of his sword. “And you are?”

“I am Zelgius, Earl of Kadohl. I’ve been dispatched from Begnion with a battalion to support your army.” The man had introduced himself by his earldom instead of his military rank. This was a good sign, an indication that he wasn’t challenging Ike’s place as general of the Crimea Liberation Army. On the other hand, it could also be a false display of submission. 

“Your assistance is much appreciated, but…” Ike took a long look at the army behind him. “This is very unexpected.”

“I understand your surprise,” Zelgius replied, “For Begnion’s imperial Senate, this decision was made with unusual haste.”

Soren narrowed his eyes at the man. Surely Ike had meant to imply the lack of any notice being sent ahead of the army, but Zelgius had chosen to interpret the comment as a casual critique of the theocracy.

For better or worse, Ike chose to follow Zelgius’s diversion. “I imagine so,” he said. “It took forever just to get the soldiers I have now.”

“Well, there’s a reason behind this expedited decision. Duke Persis has returned home.” (He said this as if it were splendid news and perhaps Ike should rejoice with him.)

“You mean Sephiran?” Ike asked, not rejoicing.

“Correct.” Zelgius’s expression was soft but not quite a smile. “Duke Persis is also the senior statesman of the Senate. The Duke returned from his travels and began working immediately to settle pressing affairs of state. He and the Apostle exchanged reports on both foreign and domestic matters, thereby discussing Begnion’s position in relation to the current conflict and possible courses of action. In less than half a day, they brought the entire Senate into line and dispatched us here to you.”

Soren wanted to know what day that had been, and what intelligence had caused them to send so many troops, but he held his tongue. It wasn’t his place to speak out now; Ike had to do the talking.

“…So you’re saying that Begnion has allied itself with Crimea. Is that it?”

Soren allowed the faintest smile cross his lips. It was the right thing to say. Let Zelgius announce, for all to hear, that he was here for Crimea, not for Begnion.

“That’s it exactly. I am at your service, General Ike.” The large man bent his neck and moved gracefully down to one knee.

“Oh- Um…wow,” Ike sputtered incoherently. “Thank you.” Clearly he hadn’t expected this power play to work so easily in his favor.

The smile left Soren’s face. This was too much—Zelgius was play-acting.

When he got to his feet, he was the one who wore the shadow of a satisfied smile. “Now then, please tell me what you would have my men do. I’m ordered to help in any way possible.” He gestured at his awaiting troops.

“Um…” Ike hesitated, and Soren wished he could come to his friend’s aid and begin assigning tasks. But that would undermine what little authority Ike had in this man’s eyes. Once again, he bit his tongue. “You’ve caught me off guard,” Ike admitted. “I can’t think of anything right now.” ~~~~

“In that case, do I have permission to make camp around the palace and rest my troops?”

“Yes, please do,” Ike answered, “That’s no problem.”

“Thank you. Please do not hesitate to call if you have need of us. We are at your disposal.” Without another word, he proceeded into the castle, with his troops marching behind him. Soren, Ike, and the others stepped out of the way, and Zelgius nodded respectfully to Elincia as he passed. But it wasn’t the display of fealty he should have given. The fact that he hadn’t addressed her or acknowledged her presence until this point was another bad sign.

Zelgius led his men into the castle as if he knew exactly where he was going, and perhaps he did. Perhaps he’d memorized maps of a castle that would one day be his in anticipation of the day Begnion would conquer Daein.

Turning his attention to the soldiers, horses, and wagons filing past, Soren estimated Sanaki and Sephiran had sent ten-thousand reinforcements. Zelgius’s army swamped Ike’s meager garrison by more than ten to one.

When the last servants and foot soldiers had passed, Soren cast his gaze at the city streets. Although they’d begun to refill with people and activity these past few days, they were now deserted again. Doors had been closed and windows shuttered.

“I am going to help Zelgius house his men,” Ike announced. “Let’s resume our meeting in two hours.”

For the past couple days, Mia had been teaching swordsmanship lessons to local children, and that was where she’d been when Zelgius had arrived. She returned to the castle in time to see the tail end of the army slither into the castle gates. “Who the heck are they?” she asked, and Soren resigned himself to explaining what’d happened. Not long after, Mist and Rhys, who’d been out picking local herbs, turned up with their baskets, asking the same question.

While Ike helped Zelgius assign his troops beds in the barracks and palace rooms, Titania helped alter the guard schedule and assign soldiers to new posts they hadn’t been able to fill before. Elincia took it upon herself to organize a clean-up of the party remains, enlisting Marcia and Makalov to help her. Perhaps she didn’t want Zelgius to think the army had been getting drunk every night since taking Nevassa.

As rumor of the new arrivals quickly spread, the hungover soldiers and mercenaries emerged from their rooms. Rubbing bleary eyes, they appeared in the halls still in their bedclothes. Then, inevitably, they poured into mess hall looking for food. This was also where a good portion of Zelgius’s troops were headed, undoubtedly hungry after the morning’s march. Soren followed the flow of people, watching their awkward interactions.

The servants who’d travelled with Zelgius’s army swiftly displaced Oscar (and Oscar’s potato-peeling recruits) in the kitchens. Meanwhile the mercenaries stayed on one side of the mess hall and the new arrivals on the other. Ike’s Begnion soldiers sat in the middle, awkwardly trying to merge the two parties.

The veterans asked about Zelgius, not even trying to hide their hero-worship, and the reinforcements shared tales of their journey here. But they were also humble, telling the soldiers hardened by the campaign that they were the true heroes. They asked for battle stories and expressed sympathy at the thousands of lives lost since Tor Garen. 

Soren was satisfied with these interactions. They were the best he could ask for, and he didn’t think discord and resentment would be sewn among the troops. That being said, Ike could still lose his army to General Zelgius and Elincia lose her nation to the apostle, all while believing they were friends.

Rejecting Begnion’s aid would leave the Crimea Liberation Army powerless, and insulting the theocracy in such a way could mean taking up arms against the empire. That would be suicide. However, accepting their aid would mean giving up Crimea, making Elincia no more than a puppet queen (if she was lucky). There seemed no good option here, but Soren was determined to come up with a third way out.

Eventually, the time came to return to the parlor and continue their strategy meeting. Tanith and the other lieutenants weren’t here, and Soren could only assume Ike had dismissed them for the rest of the day. This was for the best; from now on, their loyalty would be divided between Ike and Zelgius. It was unsafe to keep them too close.

“Begnion reinforcements…” Titania mused. She was attempting to seem reserved, but she couldn’t hide her happiness. “That was unexpected, wasn’t it?”

“It certainly was!” Ike agreed with relief. “It seems the Apostle and Sephiran did the impossible by getting them to us.”

“All for our little army…” Elincia gripped the table in front of her as if it were keeping her steady. “It’s hard to believe they would go to all this trouble.” She seemed conflicted, as if tied between counting this as a blessing or a curse. Soren was impressed by her instincts. She wasn’t as blinded with relief as Ike and Titania.

“First we take Daein’s capital, and now this. Things are looking up.” Titania continued.

Soren nearly scoffed. Only hours ago, their victory over Daein had been nothing but a disappointing end to a long and wearisome campaign.

“You’re right,” Ike agreed, apparently forgetting the same. “Even if we don’t receive help from Gallia, we may be able to defeat Ashnard.”

“That’s true. It’s…” Elincia sighed, apparently decided to share Ike and Titania’s optimism, “…like a dream.” Despite her words, she still didn’t seem excited.

Soren stared at Ike and tried to assess his expression. Was he putting on a cheery façade for Elincia’s benefit? Had Zelgius said something that had assured him he meant no harm? Or was he simply taking the easy way out by giving Zelgius his trust? Whatever the reason, Soren wouldn’t allow it to continue. He would be Ike’s reason, and he would remind him of the situation. “I have to disagree,” he stated firmly, crossing his arms.

“Oh, look. Soren is upset again,” Titania joked, “Who knew?” She poked him playfully in the side, and he stiffened, ignoring her touch. “What is it this time?”

“If a Crimean army is not the crux of Daein’s defeat, this war means nothing.” He didn’t take his eyes away from Ike.

“What does that have to do with the arrival of these reinforcements?” Titania attempted a light-hearted voice, but Soren knew she was seeing the sense in his words, even as she resisted it. “We never really had a ‘Crimean’ army anyway…” 

“The battalion that just arrived is double the size of the one we originally received,” Soren explained, “Not only that, but all of these soldiers are marching under _Begnion’s_ name.”

“So?” Ike asked uncomfortably.

Soren proceeded as calmly and seriously as he could: “If these reinforcements are responsible for defeating King Daein, what do you think will happen? That achievement, the victory itself, will belong to the Begnion Empire. Not to Crimea. If that happens, Crimea will be rebuilt however Begnion sees fit, and Princess Elincia will be a mere figurehead. And then, the deeds of an unknown mercenary company will be expertly covered up. We’ll receive some paltry sum of money and be swept under a rug somewhere. Mark my words.”

To Soren’s surprise, the first protest came from Elincia. “Soren, you are being so rude!” she said, gripping the table even harder. She wasn’t even looking at him, instead staring at the tabletop. “Surely the Apostle, of all people, would never do such a thing!”

She’d broken her moratorium on condemning his rudeness, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even think she meant it. The hysterical edge in her voice told Soren she knew he was right.

“And this General Zelgius seems sincere enough to me,” Ike added. He rubbed the back of the neck as if the tension were giving him a headache.

“Come, Soren,” Titania scolded, “I have heard of situation like that which you describe, but whether this is such a case…” She shook her head. “We’ve been fortunate to receive this good will. Must we always search for such ulterior motives?”

Soren refused to yield. “ _Yes_ ,” he answered emphatically. “We must.” He was trying to remain calm, but he couldn’t stop his voice from rising. “Have you forgotten Nasir? It’s that sort of naïve attitude that allowed him to remain undetected for so long! You people don’t seem to get it. We are at war! All doubts, no matter how small, must be extinguished. If they aren’t, we could well be ignoring something that will lead to our defeat—and our death.”

That seemed to resonate with Ike. Titania and Elincia seemed appropriately chastised, but it was Ike whose expression changed the most. “Let’s take Soren’s comments under consideration and discuss this at length. We meet again in one hour.”

Soren was annoyed that today’s strategy meeting seemed like a never-ending one, but he was willing to be patient if that was what it took for Ike and the others to see reason. He went to the mess hall again, this time to actually get something to eat. He hardly needed to wait. The servants had taken a firm hand of the facilities and were churning out dishes for whatever soldier or mercenaries turned up. He sat with a few of the other mercenaries and listened to gossip about the new arrivals. Nothing was said that was of value.

When it was time, Soren returned to the parlor.

“I agree with Soren,” Ike announced once everyone had arrived. Titania looked surprised, but Elincia looked like she agreed as well. He continued: “We need to proceed cautiously, but I will not deny Begnion’s aid either. That would look bad and, frankly, we can use them.”

Soren nodded. Ike’s assessment was correct, and at this point, he didn’t have a specific solution anyway.

“For now…” Ike sad down with his elbows on the table and his right fist in his left hand. “I would like to investigate that Palmeni Temple Nasir mentioned. Sothe is from here, so I sent him out to investigate. He found it easily enough, and it’s nearby.”

“Are you sure that is wise?” Titania asked.

“How can we trust anything Nasir said?” Elincia seconded.

Ike shrugged. “I just…have a feeling.”

Soren considered the matter. Now that Zelgius’s army had arrived, they could safely leave the castle without it falling back into Daein hands. And he was as curious as anyone to understand Nasir’s treachery. “At the very least,” he began, “it will give us an opportunity to see General Zelgius’s reaction when we tell him to stay behind.” He gave Ike a small conspiratorial smile.

Ike return the expression, grinning as if the four of them were the holders of an exciting secret. “I’ll go tell Zelgius then. Don’t worry, I’ll be subtle. I’ll say we’re going on a survey mission and don’t require large numbers. You three begin assembling the Greil Mercenaries.”

Soren, Titania, and Elincia stood to leave, but Ike remained seated. To Soren’s surprise, his smile fell as soon as he thought no one was looking. Once Titania and Elincia had exited, Soren closed the door behind them. “Is something wrong?” he asked.

Ike shook his head. “I don’t like this. I believed in trust until this whole mess with Nasir.”

Soren said nothing.

“Now, I find myself thinking that I should suspect Zelgius more just because I like him.” Ike leaned back in his chair and ran his hands over his face.

Soren supposed he should say something to put his friend at ease. “It was never my intention to cause you to second guess yourself. You are a fine commander and our survival thus far has been due to your instincts.”

Ike’s sighed, unconvinced. “You kept trying to tell me there was a spy… Did you know it was Nasir?”

Soren was suddenly uncomfortable. “I never had any proof.”

“I should’ve let you have your inquisition.” He lifted his head.

“I did not think you were listening when I suggested such a thing.”

“I didn’t want to hear it.” He sighed again. “I didn’t want you rounding up my friends and questioning everyone. And really, I didn’t want to believe it could be possible… I’m sorry. You were right.”

“I was wrong too,” Soren admitted. “About Zihark, Sothe, Jill, and probably Tauroneo. Statistically speaking, your willingness to trust has earned you far more allies than enemies.”

Ike’s expression actually brightened, and he offered a small smile. “I suppose.”

“If you would like to investigate General Zelgius and his army further, why not leave some of our troops behind? This may be a prime opportunity for Tauroneo to prove himself,” he continued, warming to the plan as he gave it. “His familiarity with Daein will be an asset to General Zelgius and our efforts to pacify the surrounding regions. He would never have become one of King Ashnard generals if he weren’t a capable and observant man.”

Ike seemed to like the idea. “You’re brilliant, Soren, but I don’t think I’ll leave Tauroneo in charge. Not that I don’t trust him, but I think I would like you to stay and spy on Zelgius.”

“Me?” Soren asked, confused and slightly annoyed that he wouldn’t be on the forefront of finding whatever secrets Nasir expected them to find at Palmeni Temple.

“Yeah, you, Tauroneo, and let’s see…Muarim, Tormod, Jill, and Marcia.” Ike counted off his fingers. “Stay for the afternoon, keep a low profile, and watch how they behave with me and the mercenaries gone. Just make sure you join us at Palmeni Temple by sundown.”

“If you are sure.” Soren bowed his head respectfully. “I will gather the others and explain the mission.”

“Right, now I should go announce _our_ little mission to General Zelgius.” Ike stood and once more looked the part of a gleeful co-conspirator.

Soren watched him go and found himself hoping Ike wasn’t putting on a bright face for him just as he had for Titania and Elincia. But he also knew his paltry attempt at comfort couldn’t have been nearly as effective as Ike had made it seem.

When he was gone, Soren went to the window, where he could see soldiers and mercenaries mingling in the courtyard below. Looking over the wall, he could see the roofs and gables of a Nevassan neighborhood. He recognized this opportunity for what it was. Ike and the majority of the mercenaries would be gone. Those remaining would be kept busy. New soldiers would be on guard, and they wouldn’t know to be suspicious if he left the castle. These were ideal circumstances to find Galina.

After giving Tauroneo, Muarim, Tormod, Jill, and Marcia their instructions, Soren left them to do their work. He dressed in civilian clothes (or what he judged a poor townsperson might wear) and tied on a simple brown cloak with a deep hood. As an added precaution, he stole a knit hat from some soldier’s belongings and hoped it didn’t contain lice. But it was worth the risk to hide his Brand—he didn’t wish to attract attention as either a mage in the invading army or a half-laguz monstrosity.

He told the guard at the gate that he was running an errand and expected to return within an hour. The guard had no idea who he was and gave a simple, “Whatever, kid,” in reply.

The townsfolk were still hiding after seeing the Begnion troops this morning, and Soren hardly saw a soul as his feet carried him along eerily familiar paths. Eventually he found Galina’s house. The shack was in worse condition than he’d imagined, and its neighbors along the deserted street fared no better. He wondered if anyone lived here at all.

But when he stepped in front of the door, he heard voices beyond: quick, sharp tones and slack, uneducated accents. When he knocked, a haggard woman came to the door. “What?” she demanded. She was wearing a dirty apron, her hands were covered in blood up to her elbows, and she carried a butcher’s knife. Soren took a surprised step back. But then he noticed the carcass, barely recognizable as a dog, that lay open on the table behind her. The corpse was surrounded by four skinny children who hovered like scavengers. The youngest was crying, holding a filth-incrusted collar in his hands. An old woman sat in a chair behind them, but she was not Galina.

“What?” the woman demanded again. Soren returned his gaze to her.

“I am looking for someone named Galina. She used to live here.”

“Hell if I know her,” the woman spat. “Now leave me alone. Don’t you know Begnion invaded us? Stay out of sight and stay away from my house. I don’t wanna give them a reason to mess with us.” She tried to close the door, but Soren stuck his boot in the threshold to stop it. The woman opened it again, even angrier now.

“You’d better clear out of here before things get messy,” she threatened, waving the knife. Soren, however, had faced too many trained soldiers with swords to be threatened by this woman.

“This used to be her house. You must know what happened to her,” Soren pressed.

The woman narrowed her eyes. “Don’t know what you’ve heard, but the gold’s all gone—the bit the old crone left under the floorboards. Been gone for years.”

“Gold?” Soren repeated. “I asked about Galina.”

“Dead. Dead and gone. Didn’t you know?” the woman replied hotly.

Soren shook his head. That was it then.

“Galina?” rose a weak voice in the room. “You’re talkin’ about Galina the midwife?”

The woman rolled her eyes. “Not talkin’ about anything Ma-ma.”

“G’ina was the woman what did deliver you, you ungrateful brat,” the woman spat. “Show some respect.”

“Leave. Now,” the woman told Soren.

“No,” the old woman said, sounding particularly ornery. “Let the boy in.”

“No, Ma-ma.”

“I said let him in. I’ll talk to him!” This was followed by a rickety sound that might have been the legs of the chair or the old woman’s bones.

The daughter sighed audibly and opened the door wider. Soren entered, albeit warily. She turned right around and began hammering away at the carcass. The little boy started crying again. Soren approached the old woman. He had to get closer than he would have liked to hear her over the sound of chopping.

“What you want to know, kid?” the old woman growled. She was grotesque and smelled of urine. Soren knew she was speaking to him only to get on her daughter’s nerves.

“You called her Galina the midwife? I knew her as a knitter,” Soren began.

“You would. You’re young.” The woman sucked in a long, thin breath and continued in a rasp. “Used to be the best midwife in Nevassa. Not a baby died on her watch. But ol’ Galina got into some kinda of trouble. Got stuck carin’ for some cursed child. No one’d trust her after that. She got old, arthritic, rotten.” The woman grinned, showing off her few remaining teeth. “Like me I suppose.” 

“Why would she care for a cursed child?” Soren asked, feigning ignorance.

The old woman squinted suspiciously. “What do you care? You’re hardly old enough to’ve known her.”

“What was the money your daughter mentioned?” Soren changed the subject.

The woman shrugged. “No one knew for sure.” She drew another labored inhale, and her breath was like the Serenes forest’s poison gas. “G’ina was a gambler. Dog fighting. Had a lot of debt around the time she started takin’ care of that imp. All a sudden, her debts got paid. And she never was in much need for money after that. Everyone s’pposed she had a pile of gold in this here house. An’way, one day she fin’ly rid herself of the child. Things kept goin’on this way. But then three, no a’most four years ‘go now, there’s a rumor of some woman comin’ by in the dead o’night. Now there was just one witness. Ol’ Samis the cobbler. Been drinking a lot that night, so no one knows if this woman was real or not. But story goes that she got in an arg’ment with ol’ Galina. Sayin’ she broke her deal. Some think they was talkin’ about the demon child.”

The woman fell into a fit of coughing. As she caught her breath, Soren listened to the thump of the woman’s knife, the sizzle of dog meat hitting the fire, and the crying of the boy, and it was like he was hearing these sounds for the first time. His palms grew clammy, and his skin prickled. _Did my mother come back for me?_ he dared wonder.

“What then?” he prodded, impatient for more.

“Then Galina got poor again. One way or another. Got poor and sick, and her knittin’ wasn’t worth nothin’. She died a year later, and everybody stormed her house lookin’ for a pile of gold. After that, my daughter’s idiot husband moved us here. Found a couple gold coins in the floor, but that’s it. I knew we wouldn’t find much.”

Soren nodded his understanding.

“You finish all your story-tellin’, Ma-ma?” the woman asked, turning to them and wiping her hands on her apron.

“You just can’t wait for me to die,” the old woman shot back.

The daughter gestured to Soren and then to the door. “You. Out.”

Soren didn’t have to be told twice and left without another word. When he returned to the castle, the guard on duty just waved him back through.

He went to his room, where he waited for each of Ike’s spies to make their reports. He tried to spend this time thinking of a solution to Crimea and Begnion’s power struggle, but he had a hard time concentrating. His mind kept turning over what the old woman had said.

If Galina had been paid to take care of him, then someone must have cared if he was alive. If that old woman’s memory was correct, then someone had been funneling gold to Galina for fifteen years. Suddenly remembering the haircut she’d given him before Sileas had taken him away, he realized she must have made those strands last for years. They were proof of his existence. Someone had wanted proof. Someone had come back for him—and they might still be out there. They might still want him. It was such a foreign idea, Soren didn’t even know how to feel about it.

Eventually Jill knocked on his door, tearing him from the cycle of his thoughts. “Well?” he asked once she was inside.

She rubbed her arms uncomfortably. “I don’t know why you chose me for this…”

“Ike chose you, doubtless because he knows your situation gives you unique insight,” Soren lied. In truth, he suspected Ike had chosen Jill and Marcia solely so their flying steeds wouldn’t be seen as they crept up on Palmeni Temple.

“Okay, well, anyway. I did what you said and asked General Zelgius if he would grant me furlough to visit Talrega.”

“Did you mention your father’s grave?” Soren cut in.

“Yeah I did,” she answered in annoyance.

“And how did he react?”

“He was surprised to know I was from Daein, let alone a landholder.”

“Did it seem like he was faking his surprise? May he have already known this?”

Jill shook her head. “He seemed genuine, and genuinely concerned too. He said he was sorry for my loss and that he understood the ‘challenging position I must have been in,’ or something like that.”

“Hmm,” Soren nodded, “And how did he respond to your request?”

“He said I would have to bring it up with Ike, that it wasn’t his jurisdiction.”

Soren nodded. It was the correct answer for Zelgius to give. “Anything else?”

Jill sighed. “He said that even though he hasn’t known Ike long, he thinks he’s a real good guy. He even said he would talk to Ike on my behalf if I wanted.”

“And how did he refer to Ike?” Soren pushed, searching for anything incriminating in Zelgius’s behavior.

“You mean as ‘General Ike’?”

“Yes, is that how he said it?”

Jill nodded. “Anything else? Like I said, I’ve never really done anything like this before.”

“That will be all,” he replied dismissively.

Jill turned to the door but then hesitated. “You know I don’t actually want to go back to Talrega, right? I want to go with Ike and everybody to Crimea, to kick Ashnard where it hurts.”

“I know. It was merely a ruse meant to elicit responses we can analyze. However, please do not tell anyone what you have done today.”

“Well, I don’t want people thinking I’m going leave them.” Now she was angry.

Soren was impatient for her to go. “Then let’s hope Zelgius and his men aren’t gossips.”

She made a frustrated sound in her throat but said nothing more. Yanking the door open and closing it roughly, she was gone. 

A short while later Tormod and Muarim turned up. The mage scuttled into the room as if trying to be stealthy, and the tiger’s long gait carried him in normally.

“Were you able to speak to Zelgius?” Soren asked.

“Oh, we got him talking alright,” Tormod answered with a grin and crossed arms.

“And were you on-topic?” Soren asked pointedly.

“I asked him all about his political views on laguz and slavery and stuff,” Tormod answered proudly.

“He jumped him,” Muarim clarified. “I believe Sir Zelgius thought he was on trial.”

Soren shook his head. “I should have known better than to expect subtlety.”

Tormod shrugged. “Don’t worry, he was cool about it.”

“He answered Tormod’s questions without protest,” Muarim translated. “I was surprised by his respectful and diplomatic tone. He is like Empress Sanaki, I think. He truly wishes to see the rift between laguz and beorc healed.”

“And did you remember to ask about Princess Elincia, the late King Ramon, Crimea’s alliance with Gallia?”

Tormod nodded three times. “Yes, yes, and yes. He says the Crimean royal family has set a really good example, and he hopes Begnion will one day have such rich ties with Gallia and the bird tribes.”

“And did he imply a future in which Crimea and the Crimean royal family continue to exist?” Soren urged.

“Uh…” Tormod looked confused. “I think so? I mean, why wouldn’t it?”

Soren turned to Muarim, hoping the tiger would offer a clearer answer.

“I believe so,” he agreed. “Although, you must admit it is a peculiar question.”

“Alright.” Soren waved to dismiss them. “That’s fine. Just remember not to tell anyone why you were asking those questions.”

Muarim gripped the door handle while Tormod gave Soren two thumbs up. “We were just checking to make sure this General Zelgius guy is on the up-and-up, right? Some of those Begnion dukes and earls are really bigoted stuffed-shirts. It’s great that Ike wants to check this guy out first.”

“Indeed,” Soren agreed simply, and Muarim ushered the young mage out. Soren sat down, suddenly feeling exhausted, as often happened after a conversation with Tormod.

An hour later, Marcia visited him, having been mingling with Zelgius’s soldiers all afternoon. She had nothing useful to report, and Soren soon dismissed her. “Sorry,” she said before she left, “But I don’t really know what I was looking for.”

Soren checked the position of the sun and knew evening would come soon. Ike wanted him and the others to meet them at Palmeni Temple before sunset, but Soren still had to meet with Tauroneo. His report would be the most valuable.

Finally the ex-general arrived. He was wearing his armor, although his shield and helmet were absent. Soren had recommended he don it, because Zelgius appeared fond of wearing his own armor around the castle.

“Did he accept your aid?” Soren asked immediately.

Tauroneo took a seat and sighed. “Aye, he did.”

“And how did he react? Did he seem amenable? What did you discuss?” 

“He was quite easy to talk to actually. He accepted my offer and sought my advice on several maps of the region, asking me to correct inaccuracies and mark army outposts.” He rubbed his mustache as he continued. “He asked about the deployment of soldiers in the region prior to the battle here in Nevassa. Asked me about the battle too, come to think of it. He wanted to hear about the campaign from both sides—Daein and Crimean—and to provide insight into General Ena’s defensive and offensive strategies. He asked me to describe how these compared to regular Daein tactics, and so on. Nothing struck me as particularly suspicious.” He waved his hand through the air. “Honestly, he seemed like an experienced general attempting to understand his enemy and his terrain.”

“And the Crimea Liberation Army? Ike? Was he attempting to understand them as well?”

Tauroneo adjusted his weight in the chair. “Aye, he was. But again, I don’t think he is out of bounds in doing so. General Ike has been on the road many months, fighting the Daein Army all the while. Now General Zelgius must play catch-up.”

“To what end?” Soren asked, thinking aloud: “Catching up is not enough for men like Zelgius. They must overtake their rivals.”

“Must Zelgius and Gawain’s son be rivals?” Tauroneo’s voice was thoughtful. “I have considered it myself.”

“What else did you observe?”

Tauroneo cleared his throat. “Only that his plans are ambitious. He seeks the pacification of the region, and his notion of the ‘region’ is quite far reaching.”

“And his notion of ‘pacification’?” Soren raised an eyebrow.

Tauroneo lifted both hands. “You know as well as I…the man brought many soldiers with him.”

“For the liberation of Crimea,” Soren baited. 

“I am sorry, he was not asking me to consult on maps of Crimea.”

“I’m not certain whether that is a good or a bad thing…” Soren replied contemplatively.

Tauroneo cracked a smile. “Serious matters aside, I must say I am impressed by both Gawain’s son and his aide. For such young boys, you are both handling so much.”

Soren gave Tauroneo a pointed look, hoping to convey the fact that neither he nor Ike needed the old general’s approval. After a sufficient pause he asked, “Is there anything else?”

“If I may make one more note, though perhaps I overstep my role as a simple spy.”

Soren gestured that he should continue.

“Zelgius is, above all else, a soldier. That, I can see clearly. He will do what he has been ordered to do, and what he will be ordered to do. Nothing more, no less.”

“So to know if he is a threat, I must know the desires of Begnion’s apostle and prime minister.” Soren suddenly found himself wishing he’d paid more attention in Sienne. He had never been invited to a senate meeting, but perhaps he should have asked to attend. Both in Crimea and Begnion, he’d only seen Sephiran in passing. Perhaps he should have tried to learn more about him.

“Your answer would be multifaceted,” Tauroneo replied thoughtfully. “I am sure there are many layers to the prerogative of such eminent theocrats.”

“I agree.” Soren sighed. “Now, if you will gather the others, Ike would like us to join him at Palmeni Temple as soon as possible.”

“A fight?” Tauroneo nodded and stood. “It’s a good thing I’m wearing my armor.”


	9. CHAPTER 40: PALMENI TEMPLE

Soren and his spies rode out to Palmeni Temple, arriving just after sunset. While trying to ignore the rhythmic jolting of his steed and remain in control of the animal, he’d been surprisingly successful at turning his mind to the matter of solving the imbalance of power between Crimea and Begnion. No longer was he distracted by the old woman’s story about Galina, which he felt he’d heard days ago rather than mere hours. By the time Palmeni Temple came into view, Soren had a solution in mind, but he knew Ike and Elincia wouldn’t like it.

However, these thoughts were soon put aside as well. As the temple grew larger and clearer, Soren started to worry about Ike and wonder if the mercenaries had walked into a trap after all. His fears were alleviated when he saw Rolf sitting with his legs around the neck of a dragon statue presiding over the temple doors. Shinon leaned against its pedestal, and Sothe was leaning against the wall beside the door, doing tricks with a knife. Rolf waved wildly when he saw them approaching. In response, Jill and Marcia pushed their steeds to fly faster and swooped down to greet him. The mercenaries inside must have heard Rolf calling, because several appeared a moment later.

Even at this distance, Soren could tell they were bloodied. Some were even nursing wounds that hadn’t yet been healed. He kicked his horse into a quicker gait, even though he was a poor rider. But he managed better than Tormod, who was an even fresher novice when it came to riding. The boy spurred his pony and promptly lost control. The horse cantered off, catching the air of excitement and completely ignoring his rider. Muarim, who was loping alongside in his shifted form, immediately set about herding the pony in.

Soren ignored their antics while he and Tauroneo trotted up to the entrance. He dismounted as smoothly as he could (which was not very smoothly). Ignoring the mercenaries welcoming him, Soren pushed his way through the doors and sought Ike.

He, Titania, and Elincia were standing beyond a sea of pews, near the altar atop the temple’s dais. The injured lay or sat around them, patiently waiting for Rhys to heal their wounds. No one lay with a cloth over their face, so Soren assumed none had died. However, the pews and tiled floors were littered with blood and bodies, and they weren’t wearing Daein armor. “An ambush?” he asked by way of greeting.

Titania filled him in while Ike and Elincia continued their conversation. Soren had almost forgotten the princess had travelled with the mercenaries this afternoon. From what Soren could glean from their conversation (while also listening to Titania), the young princess had been shocked to witness the horrors of battle and the death of innocents right in front of her eyes, and Ike was apologizing. Titania’s explanation filled in the details.

Ike and the Greil Mercenaries hadn’t expected a fight, but they’d been ready for one—and it was a fight they’d found. Apparently, a coalition of bandits and local mercenaries had taken over Palmeni Temple, making hostages of the priests and acolytes who lived there and demanding food and gold from the surrounding townships. Drunk on the success of their exploitation, they’d been planning to overthrow the ‘Begnion invaders’ and take back Nevassa for themselves. They’d known the Crimea Liberation Army was small (of course having no knowledge of the reinforcements arriving this morning).

Titania continued to explain that, when the Greil Mercenaries had arrived, the bandits had taken the priests as human shields. Consequently, several had died, and those who’d survived were traumatized. Elincia, it seemed, was torn between guilt for bringing violence to this place and gladness for having freed the temple and surrounding towns from the bandits’ menace.

Satisfied with Titania’s story, Soren finally turned to Ike. It appeared Elincia had been fully calmed, and she looked like her regular self. Ike nodded to acknowledge Soren and Titania and then gestured at the altar, the large statue of Ashera, and the room in general. “I can’t help but think _this_ is not what Nasir intended us to find,” he said. “Those bandits were formidable, but they were never a serious threat to our conquest. We should still search this place.”

“At once.” Titania saluted and stepped down from the dais. “Come on, you lot, we’re going to search this place from top to bottom!” The mercenaries who’d been lazing around the pews, loosening their armor and cleaning their weapons, suddenly leapt into action.

Ike turned to Soren, opening his mouth to ask—he assumed—how the day with Zelgius had gone, but Elincia interrupted him.

“My lord Ike,” she asked hesitantly, “May I join you?”

“Sure, why not?” Ike shrugged. “Everybody’s lending a-”

“Ike!” He was cut off by Mist shouting his name. She emerged from a stairwell across the room but was then lost in the crowd of mercenaries beginning their search. “Ike! Where are you?”

“Mist? I’m over here,” Ike called from the dais. He stepped to the edge, scanning for her, and leaving his conversations with both Soren and Elincia behind.

She dashed up the steps in a second and pulled him by the hand. “Ike! This way, quickly! Reyson’s in trouble!”

“What?” Ike let her pull him down the steps. Soren and Elincia were hot on their heels.

As a heron, Reyson had been born frail and weakhearted, not fit for war. And yet he'd endured countless battles as part of the Crimea Liberation Army and had never faltered. He could defend himself with the knife on his belt or his wings and fists in his unshifted form (apparently having been tutored in self-defense by the Hawk King), and Tanith had even ordered a blacksmith fashion him spurs he could loop around his ankles, turning his long, webbed feet into a semblance of a weapon in his shifted form. He was an expert at avoiding injury, even without Ulki and Janaff watching out for him. It didn’t make sense that he would become sick or wounded now.

The hawks flapped across the room, obviously having heard Mist’s cries. “What’s wrong with Prince Reyson? Where is he?” Janaff demanded, sounding like a worried parent.

“I’ll deal with it,” Ike assured as Mist pulled him toward the stairs.

Ulki and Janaff held back, but Soren and Elincia continued to follow Ike. Titania soon joined them. “Is something the matter with Prince Reyson?” she asked under her breath.

“Mist said he was in trouble,” Elincia answered, her face pinched.

Mist led them down a steep stairwell into a basement far below the temple. A dimly lit hallway led to several store rooms on either side, and Reyson was standing just within the doorway of one of them.

“Reyson, what is it?” asked Ike, but he showed no sign of having heard him.

“We were just looking around,” Mist explained in a hurried whisper, “He’s been like this from the moment he set foot in the room. He’s just staring at the walls.”

Ike nodded and squeezed her shoulder as if to assure her it wasn’t her fault. Then he pulled an unlit torch from the wall. Soren uttered small fire spell to get it going, and Ike nodded his thanks. With the light in hand, he edged around Reyson’s wings and into the mysterious room. Elincia was right behind him. Soren whispered another spell for his own torch, and Titania lit one off his while keeping her other arm wrapped around Mist’s shoulders. Then all three squeezed in after Ike and the princess.

The small room was empty save for the remnants of a rotten mattress on an old pallet and a long-dry waste bucket. The floor was stone matted with ancient straw, and near the bed was a rusty shackle on a chain. This was clearly a prisoner’s cell, which was surprising enough to find under a temple (although Soren knew from experience it was not unheard of). But most striking of all were the intricate scribbles covering all four walls.

Soren raised his torch for a better look.

“What is all this?” Ike asked, bringing his flame closer to the scratch work.

“Every wall has the same pattern on it,” Elincia observed.

“It’s not a pattern,” Soren countered. The handwriting was atrocious, but he’d recognized the characters instantly. “It’s an ancient language. All chants and spells in magic scrolls are written this way.”

“Can you read it, Soren?” Ike asked hopefully.

He glanced back at the wall, but he only recognized a word here and there. “Some,” he finally answered, “but not all. Spells are simple, whereas this is a complex narrative. I think Prince Reyson could read it.”

They all turned to the heron, but he still showed no sign that he could hear them talking about him.

“I bet this is the same language that Leanne was speaking,” Ike observed gently.

“It is,” Soren agreed, “It’s Serenes’ language. Their songs are all in this language too.”

“So, Reyson is reading what’s written on the walls?” Mist gave him a worried glance.

“It appears that way,” Titania whispered and began pulling Mist toward the door. “Shall we leave him be? There’s a lot of writing here. This could take hours.” She stuck her torch into a sconce by the door.

Ike nodded and stuck his own torch in the opposite sconce before gesturing for Elincia to exit ahead of him.

“I think that’s a good idea,” she agreed. She pressed her palm to the prince’s arm as she passed, but he didn’t seem to register the touch.

Although the others left, Soren remained. He wanted to translate what he could, in case Reyson refused to share what he learned. As he read, the meanings of the words weren’t shocked into his brain like when he learned a new spell, but Soren hadn’t really expected them to. The shared knowledge and power of a spell-writer and spell-caster was required to do magic, but these words had been written with no power in them. The writer had merely been trying to express themself. Soren wondered how long they’d been trapped down here.

He looked for words and grammatical structures he recognized and then sounded out the rest of the sentence. Sometimes this gave him the rough idea, but most of the time he didn’t have a clue. He found one sentence in which the writer expressed a longing to feel the wind again, but this was far from valuable information. He continued to read, hoping to come across the name of a person or place that would add some context.

There was one word in particular that reoccurred several times on the wall behind the bed. “Kou-Re,” the syllables said, and Soren couldn’t deny the familiarity struck him. _Koure?_ he thought, although he knew how unlikely it was that the occupant of this room had anything to do with his childhood friend.

He tried to read the sentences the word occupied. ‘Koure is a fire inside,’ one seemed to say. Soren didn’t know what that meant, and he continued reading to no avail. When he’d garnered all he could from the walls and poked around the room a bit, he reported back to Ike in the temple’s main atrium.

“Ike…” he began.

“What is it?” he replied eagerly, closing the distance between them. Apparently he’d been waiting.

“From what I could gather, a person was locked in that room sometime in the past few decades. It’s quite possible they perished or were relocated long ago, and it appears the room was boarded and untouched until today.”

Ike seemed disappointed that he hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. “You don’t know who it was, do you?”

“I wasn’t able to read enough of the writing, but…I found this under the bed.” Soren withdrew a small, disintegrating journal from his sleeve. He’d hidden it without Reyson noticing. The journal was written entirely in the ancient language and some pages were stained brown with blood. A long white feather, now yellowed with age, was stuck between the pages.

Ike withdrew it gingerly. “Is this…?”

 _A feather from the wing of a royal heron,_ Soren thought, but he merely said, “I think it may have belonged to whoever was imprisoned in that room.”

Ike nodded once, seeming to understand the implication.

The mercenaries set up camp within the temple. Night set in, and still they waited for Reyson. No one was able to find anything else remotely interesting about the temple, nor was there any record of a prisoner ever being kept in the basement. When they asked the surviving priests about it, they claimed to have no idea such a room existed. The most senior among them had served at Palmeni Temple for over fifteen years, and he claimed that room had always been locked tight until a few days ago when the bandits had smashed in the door, looking for valuables.

It was obvious this hidden prison was what Nasir had wanted them to find, but no one could guess why. Soren listened to Ike, Titania, Mist, Elincia, Tanith, Janaff, and Ulki speculate quietly among themselves until Ike jumped to his feet, causing them to fall silent. Reyson had finally emerged.

“I apologize. I took up much of your time,” he said.

“Reyson, you don’t look so good. Why don’t you rest for a bit?” Ike offered, gesturing to the hearth. 

He shook his head sternly. “No, I’m fine. It’s more important that we talk.”

Ike couldn’t hide his eagerness. “About the owner of this feather?”

Reyson took it gently from Ike’s hand. “Was it in that room?”

“Soren found it,” Ike explained. “Whose was it?”

“Lillia…” came Reyson’s answer, “my older sister. The writing on the walls is hers.”

“You have an older sister too?” Elincia asked in a soft, pleasant voice.

“Will you tell us about it?” Ike asked similarly. (Soren’s patience was wearing thin.)

“She was kidnapped twenty years ago, on the night of the Serenes Massacre. I-” Swallowing once, Reyson continued in a measured tone: “I thought that Lillia had been murdered along with my other brothers and sisters. I believed that until today…”

“Who took her?” Ike demanded, angry now.

“The walls say only that he was a large human. She probably never knew who it was. He thrust a clan treasure at her and demanded she use her magic to revive the thing sealed inside. He exhorter her…again and again, but to no avail. Lillia refused his request every time.” Reyson shook his head in frustration. “Because she did not possess that power.”

Soren, Ike, Titania, and Elincia traded glances. They were all thinking the same thing—Lehran’s Medallion. “Someone wanted to revive the dark god…” Elincia whispered. Only then did Soren realize Ike must have told her the true nature of the medallion. He wished Ike had consulted him first. For a moment, he feared Mist, Tanith, the hawks, and everyone else within earshot was about to learn the truth too, but no one asked Elincia what she was murmuring about.

“Shortly after she was brought here, Lillia fell ill. I am not surprised… It was a terrible time. She was imprisoned in that tiny room with no view of earth or sky for over a year.” Reyson’s even tone began to waver.

“Oh, that’s awful!” Mist declared. Her eyes grew moist with anger and sorrow, and Titania took her shoulder again.

“I beg your pardon,” Reyson said, apparently confused by Mist’s reaction. “Let me continue. A young beorc began coming to the room to care for Lillia. She had bluish hair and blue eyes…and her heart was unusually pure for a beorc.” His gaze flicked to Mist, who was wiping her eyes. “In time, she and Lillia became friends and shared a mutual trust. Lillia decided to entrust her hopes to the woman. They shared no common language, so it took some time. But eventually, the beorc woman understood what it was Lillia wanted…” His voice threatened to waver again. “Which was to take the treasure and the song and flee the temple.”

“Brother…” Mist glanced suddenly at Ike who was wearing a very serious expression.

“Was there anything else written about this beorc woman?” he demanded. “A name perhaps?”

“*Elena*” Reyson replied. “Translated to your language, it was probably Elena.”

“I knew it!” Mist exclaimed, to Reyson’s apparent confusion and alarm. “Mother! It was our mother!” Ike was laughing.

“What?” Reyson demanded, affronted.

“Are you sure?” Elincia asked skeptically.

“Our mother’s name was Elena,” Ike replied, beaming, “Like me, her hair was blue—as were her eyes. Reyson, the object you refer to as your clan treasure was an aged, bronze medallion, wasn’t it?”

“How…how did you know that?”

“The medallion became my mother’s keepsake. The song, too…” Ike grew quiet as if lost in foggy memories. Soren had to agree it made sense given all he knew about Greil and Elena. This explained how they’d come to possess the dangerous object and why they’d fled Daein when they did. “My parents both gave their lives to protect it,” Ike whispered almost inaudibly, and Soren wondered if Mist had heard those damning words. He also wondered (not for the first time) why Greil and Elena had protected the cursed artifact instead of smelting it, casting it into the sea, or otherwise disposing of the supposed ‘god’. 

“Ike!” Reyson gripped his shoulders. “You and Mist are Elena’s children? Then Lehran’s Medallion is here?” Judging by the panic in his voice, Soren wondered if he was thinking of the same folly.

Mist glanced at the ground awkwardly while Ike loosened the heron’s fingers from their talon-like grip. “The medallion was stolen,” he admitted, “probably by Daein.”

“It can’t…” Reyson deflated. “This is…unbelievable. Can a thing like this be chance?”

Ike shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t fully understand all that happened. But…it all makes sense. It all comes together.” Just then, Mist began singing with her hands clasped at her stomach. It was the ancient song Soren remember Elena used to sing, and the one Mist now hummed when doing chores for the mercenaries.

“Mist,” Elincia noted in confusion once she’d finished, “That’s the song that… But the melody’s a little different, isn’t it?

Ike nodded. “It’s galdr similar to the song Reyson and Leanne sang in the forest. My mother used to sing it as a lullaby.”

Mist smiled, and her hand found his.

“It is the song of release, the one Lillia entrusted to Elena,” Reyson explained.

“But I wore the medallion and sang that song almost every single night!” Mist said, suddenly alarmed. “And nothing ever happened.”

“The magical effect of the song is awakened by the power of the singer. It can’t be unleashed by just anyone. The true song can only be sung by a girl named Altina… Lillia wanted your mother to take the melody to Altina and return the medallion to its rightful place in Serenes Forest.”

“The story’s becoming clearer and clearer,” Ike said, giving Mist’s hand a squeeze. “My father fled Daein to protect my mother, who was carrying the amulet.”

Soren frowned as he considered this. The name Altina sounded familiar, but he had a feeling it belonged to a character from centuries past, some historical hero perhaps. But Lillia had been imprisoned only twenty years ago. He supposed there could be many people by that name, and yet Elena had never found this Altina person and pass on the galdr.

That being said, perhaps it was for the best. Soren could understand why a homicidal maniac like Ashnard or the Black Knight may want to use the medallion’s power. But why the heron Lillia would ever want the medallion, the song, and the woman Altina in the same place at the same time, he couldn’t fathom. If he understood the implications correctly, such a thing could lead to a disaster far worse than the one Greil inflicted on that village.

“King Ashnard took Lillia, didn’t he?” Reyson finally asked. It was the same conclusion Soren had come to.

“That would be the final piece of the puzzle. After all, the man who found my father was the king’s henchmen.”

“What?” Titania exclaimed, taking a sudden step forward. “Do you mean to say you know the identity of Greil’s killer? You know the identity of the Black Knight!” Her affection for Commander Greil was revealed in the intensity of her voice.

Ike shot her a confused glance. “I know him only as the mysterious Black Knight. But he is a servant of King Ashnard. One of his Four Riders.”

“Right,” Titania deflated, slightly embarrassed.

“Can we discuss this later?” Soren interjected, though he didn’t know why he was covering for Titania.

“Oh, yes. Of course.” She released a forced laugh.

Soren closed his eyes a moment, deciding it was time to end this lengthy discussion. When he opened them again, he launched into his assessment: “Up to this point, we’ve all been fighting for the liberation of Crimea.” He gestured to Elincia. “Even if we now add stopping the dark god from being released—” he nodded to Reyson “—and punishing Commander Greil’s killer—” he nodded toward Titania and Ike “—our enemy remains unchanged. King Daein and his henchmen are the ones we must defeat.”

Everyone seemed to digest this while Soren’s mind whirred with questions: How did releasing the dark god allow Ashnard to harness its power? How would he employ that power to conquer the content? And what would be left if he did? Of course, there was also the question of how he would access the god’s power if heron galdr hadn’t been the key.

Naturally there were old questions that remained unanswered, even by this revelation. Soren still didn’t know why Ashnard had been so willing to abandon Daein, nor why dragons like Nasir and Ena were supporting him. If Nasir’s goals were somehow aligned with Ashnard’s, then why had he given them the hint about Palmeni Temple?

“It’s mysterious, isn’t it?” Elincia said, drawing his attention back to the situation at hand. “I mean, Reyson said the same thing earlier, but…could all of this really be mere coincidence? The fall of Crimea, Ike’s parents, the death of Reyson’s sister—the fact that everything leads back to Daein…”

“If true, it changes the meaning behind this war.” Reyson shook his head in frustration. “The treatment of Lillia is one thing, but the assassination of the former apostle? The framing and destruction of my nation? If it was all part of Daein’s plan to steal the medallion and the song, then I- I have new reason to fight.” 

Soren agreed. It was hard to believe, but Mad King Ashnard had clearly been planning this for a long time. If he had truly killed his way to the crown using a plague as a cover and orchestrated the death of the apostle and the herons using double-sided bigotry as a ruse—he was not someone to be underestimated. The Greil Mercenaries were out of their league, but they were the only ones currently opposing Daein, so they had no choice but to continue.

Before going to bed that night, Soren returned to Lillia’s cell to take another look at the walls now that he knew the full story. Here he found Reyson kneeling. The heron’s eyes were closed, and Soren wondered if he’d fallen asleep. But they opened when his footsteps stopped in front of him.

He said nothing until Reyson spoke. “You hate laguz,” he said. His face was impassive.

“That doesn’t mean I condone what humans did to your sister and your people,” Soren replied honestly.

“You hate beorc too.”

Soren changed the subject. “You were down here a long time. I think there is more written on these walls that you haven’t shared.”

Reyson’s feathers grew ruffled and stiff. He said nothing.

“And there’s this.” Soren took Lillia’s journal from his satchel and held it out.

Reyson’s eyes widened. Rising to his feet, he swept over to Soren in a single stride and plucked the journal from his hand. His fingers turned the pages reverently while his eyes devoured them ferociously. Eventually he calmed again. “It is more of the same,” he reported. Apparently the journal was enough of a peace offering to loosen his lips. “She describes her days, her mistreatment. She dreams of the Serenes.”

Soren had expected as much. He didn’t suspect Reyson of purposefully withholding information, especially now that he knew Ike and Mist were the children of his sister’s dear friend. But there was still something that didn’t sit well with him. “What does the word _koure_ mean?” he finally asked.

Reyson tensed again, but this time he slowly released each taut feather. “As with many ancient words, it has several meanings.”

“Which are?”

“It may mean a gift that comes with many pains, a secret or endeavor with much at stake, or, colloquially, an unborn child.”

This piqued Soren’s interested. “Lillia was pregnant?”

Reyson cast his eyes to the walls again. The fury in his eyes cast sparks that twitched his brow. “A mixed child. Torn from her and killed by the guards who put it there.”

The conversation had dipped drastically into the subject Soren hated most. He didn’t want to hear anything else; he wanted to escape. He couldn’t stand to see the disgust in Reyson’s eyes turn on him. “I see,” he managed to say. Bending his neck in farewell, he abruptly left the room. To his relief, Reyson’s gaze didn’t follow him out. His eyes were glued to the walls.

In return for saving their lives, the surviving priests had given the mercenaries run of the temple. Everyone had been able to choose their own places to bunk, and the quickest got the best rooms. Soren, however, had chosen a small space just outside the kitchen, which may have been a servant’s quarters years ago when the temple had been grander. Since the end of the battle, the kitchen and main atrium had been where most of the planning and congregating had taken place, so Soren had determined it a beneficial place to be.

Now he was regretting this choice. Half the mercenaries were still awake despite the late hour, and Soren didn’t want to have to talk to anyone else today. He was nearly to his room when Ike cornered him.

His friend had a crease between his eyebrows as if he’d been holding them together all evening. “If you have a moment, Soren, we need to figure out what we are going to do about the Begnion army. Did they seem suspicious this afternoon?”

Soren shook his head regretfully, and reported what he could. “If the apostle has ulterior intentions,” he concluded, “she has instructed General Zelgius to be subtle about it. However, I believe the situation I previously explained is entirely natural in a case like this, and I still believe we should be cautious about accepting aid from Begnion.”

Ike gave a tired nod. “Yeah, I know. But do you think we have a chance at retaking Crimea without them?”

“No,” Soren answered carefully, “but that does not mean we should accept all of them. I suggest we take only the original number the apostle offered us. That would be sufficient for an invasion, as we have already proven by our taking of Daein.”

“That makes sense,” Ike agreed. His mood was brightening at the prospect of having a plan again. “But what do we do about Zelgius and the rest of the army?”

Soren hesitated. Between his visit to Nevassa, his interviews with Tauroneo and the others, and his trip here, he’d come up with a solution he knew would work. But he doubted Ike and Elincia would accept it. “I have an idea,” he began, “but you may not like it.”

Ike narrowed his eyes. “Shoot.”

Soren took a deep breath and continued: “We must turn down the empress’s aid without insulting her or Begnion. The presentation of a gift may soften our rejection if accompanied by a viable excuse.”

“But what do we have to give?” Ike asked, confused. “What could appease the apostle of Begnion?”

“Daein,” Soren answered simply. “The country of Daein was conquered in Crimea’s name. It is ours to do with what we will.”

“No.” Ike frowned. “The Daein people are still free. We can’t just hand them over to Begnion.”

Soren tried to proceed patiently. “Ike, we have shattered the Daein people’s confidence, crippled their armies, and wrought a scar of battle on their land. They are our responsibility. But Elincia cannot rebuild two countries.”

This last remark seemed to make an impression, as Soren hoped it would. “You’re right,” Ike admitted. “Begnion is a rich and powerful country. It can rebuild Daein better than if we left them on their own.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Soren lied. “Right now, they are open to insurrection and attack.” He honestly didn’t care about the Daein people’s fate, but it was the perfect tool to secure Ike’s agreement. “So we will give Daein to the apostle and politely ask General Zelgius to support us from behind as he stays here to maintain ‘peace’ in his empress’s name.”

Ike bobbed his head in growing agreement. “It is the perfect way out of this,” he admitted, then adding with a smile, “You’re a genius, Soren.”

Soren shrugged. “I am aware.”

Ike laughed at that. “Of course, we will have to ask Princess Elincia. It is her decision.”

Soren narrowed his eyes warningly. “Elincia will listen to you. The trading of nations will be your call. Do not pretend otherwise.”

The laugh left Ike’s voice. “And I am listening to you…so really, it’s your call, isn’t it?”

Soren was momentarily stunned. He may have been Ike’s advisor, but the mercenary band was carrying more weight in this world than Greil had ever foreseen. He didn’t honestly know if he was qualified to make these decisions, but doubting himself wouldn’t get them anywhere. “I merely advise,” he said finally. “You are our general and commander, Ike.”

He frowned, and the gruff determination in his eyes made him look more like his father. “I know,” he said.

Ike met with Elincia in the morning, and she agreed to the plan. When they returned to Nevassa, they broke the news to Zelgius together. Soren was impressed by Elincia’s composure both before and after the meeting. She had won a significant political victory, and they were now poised to take back Crimea. Time would tell if she could lead them to military victory as well. 

The Crimea Liberation Army, their ranks swollen with fresh Begnion soldiers, marched out of Nevassa four days later. They moved across the Daein countryside, meeting no resistance as they headed for the western mountains. It appeared all troops stationed in northwest Daein had been pulled back to join the occupation forces in Crimea.

They took a route similar to the one Soren and Sileas had travelled years ago, although it had been late summer then and now winter was firmly setting in. He wavered between deciding which trip was more unpleasant and warded off memories of the neglectful sage and his too-large warhorse.

As he muddled through these memories, he knew he wasn’t the only one thinking of the past. But the other mercenaries’ memories were far sweeter. Each day he heard them reminiscing about the lives they’d left behind in Crimea. Over two years had passed since this journey had begun, and everyone agreed it felt more like a decade.

Rhys hadn’t been able to contact his sickly parents since the war had begun, and Nephenee longed to reach out to her family as well. Brom missed his wife and children. Kieran worried about his fellow knights. Calill wondered about her boyfriend and the tavern they managed in Melior. They all feared the worst even while hoping for the best.

Zihark, Sothe, Jill, and Tauroneo—all Daein natives—had agreed to remain with the company. They cast their eyes behind them and promised they’d return when the war was over. They did not yet know Elincia had bequeathed their homeland to Begnion.

Meanwhile Astrid, Makalov, Marcia, and Devdan—all Begnion natives—had begun asking Elincia about becoming citizens of Crimea when the war was over. The princess agreed they deserved a piece of what they were fighting for.

Everyone was looking forward to something, but Soren couldn’t bring himself to feel optimistic. Nasir, who now travelled with them in chains, had adamantly resisted interrogation. Soren was plagued by questions, not the least of which were the reason for his treachery, the motivation of the dragon general who’d escaped, and Ashnard’s plan for the medallion (which was likely already in his grasp).

Soren debated questioning Nasir himself, but he refrained due to the mere fact that the dragon still had leverage on him. If the he demanded he help him escape, Soren didn’t know what he’d do. In theory, he would do anything to keep his secret safe, but betraying Ike felt like too much.

As the weeks passed, his frustration only grew. He watched Nasir from afar, whenever he was loaded and unloaded from his cart, whenever he was fed, watered, and exercised. Sometimes the dragon glanced his way, as if he could feel Soren’s eyes, but his sly smile was gone. He was as calm as ever, but he also looked defeated. He walked as if his chains were impossibly heavy, and Soren couldn’t tell if it was an act.

Eventually, he gave in. One night when they were still several days from the Crimean border, he dismissed the guards stationed outside Nasir’s prison cart a quarter hour ahead of their shift change. It was well past midnight, and the air was brittle. Nasir had a thick blanket pulled up to his chin, but when he moved, Soren heard the clank of his shackles. He had to be chained constantly to prevent him transforming. 

“Soren,” he greeted him, “Well, if this isn’t a surprise…”

However, it was Soren who was surprised, because Nasir had refused to speak to anyone since Nevassa. “Why- Why are you talking to me?”

“I believe you are the one who approached me, did you not?” He slid closer to the bars. Soren glared in response, which prompted Nasir to raise a manacled hand. “I enjoy our conversations,” he offered, but Soren detected sarcasm.

“Then will you answer my questions?”

“Unlikely,” he replied.

Soren decided to proceed anyway: “The woman you helped escape—was she important to Ashnard, or to you?”

Nasir blinked slowly and said nothing.

“How does Ashnard intend to use Lehran’s Medallion?”

Still no reply.

“Who were you contacting with that crystal? How does it work?”

Nasir shook his head as if to stay this was a waste of his time.

“Why betray Ike only to give him the clue about Palmeni Temple?” Soren growled. “Whose side are you on?”

Nasir sighed.

“Am I boring you?” he demanded, wondering why he’d dared think a confrontation like this would decrease his frustration. “I could make this interrogation more interesting.” He withdrew his tome to emphasize the threat.

Nasir didn’t seem impressed. “Oh, but what would Ike think?”

Now it was Soren who said nothing, but he refused to back down.

The dragon narrowed his eyes. “No…you were prepared for worse tonight,” he observed. “‘Release me, or I will reveal your secret’—if I had made such a demand, you were going to kill me and blame it on an escape attempt, weren’t you?”

Soren swallowed to prevent the denial that bubbled in his throat, because Nasir was right; that had been his plan for the worst-case scenario. But he wasn’t sure he would have gone through with it. He’d never killed anyone for his own purposes. Self-defense and mercenary work were one thing, but this would have been different.

Nasir wrapped both hands around the bars. The chain between them hit the metal, and the ring pierced the night. “Why does someone like you follow someone like him?” he asked gently, as if he honestly wanted to know the answer.

Soren couldn’t resist the taunting any longer. “Someone like me?” he snarled.

“I do not mean your mixed blood,” Nasir explained. “I mean someone who has so little regard for the lives of others. Ike cares about everyone; you care for nothing.”

“And what do you care for?” Soren returned. “To what do you vow loyalty?”

“A great many things, as it turns out,” he admitted in a sad voice. Releasing the bars, Nasir turned and leaned his back against the cart wall. 

Soren willed himself to calm down. Nasir appeared torn, and that was at least one thing he hadn’t known before. He reminded himself why he was here. “You didn’t want to betray Ike, but you had to. Is that it?”

Nasir said nothing.

“Did you know I was watching you?” Soren asked, surprising himself by the thought. “Did you want me to turn you in? If you’d been captured sooner, you would have failed in the line of duty…”

Nasir glanced sideways at him. “At times, yes, I knew. Although you are better at hiding yourself from me than most…” He slithered back under his blanket. “But no, I did not wish to be captured. That is why I threatened you, remember?” 

Soren scowled but forced himself to release his anger. “If you tell Ike everything you know, he may forgive you. Now that you have been captured anyway, you have nothing left to lose. Although Ashnard may not consider you a failure, I have little doubt he sees you as a liability. You miscalculated to land yourself in this position. But I am offering you an opportunity to become an informant rather than a prisoner.” He took a steadying breath. “Well?”

Nasir didn’t look at him when he answered. Pressing his head against the wooden wall, he closed his eyes. “I think not, Soren, although you make an admirable effort to appear sympathetic.”

“Then _rot_ ,” Soren shot back. Twisting on the spot, he departed without another word. He’d gotten everything he was going to out of the dragon.


	10. CHAPTER 41: RIVEN BRIDGE

It was the dead of winter when they reached the border, and the army marched in heavy boots and furs. At night they lit twice as many campfires and torches to fool enemy scouts into thinking they had more troops. For now, Soren wanted Daein to think the entire Begnion army had accompanied them. The truth would be revealed on the battlefield, but in the meantime this ploy discouraged ambushes. 

As for the battlefield itself, Soren had chosen Riven Bridge. Riven and Oribes were the safest crossings between Daein and Crimea, with Riven in north and Oribes in the south. Centuries’ worth of Crimean and Daein generals had determined that the northland favored an invasion from the Daein side and the southland an invasion from the Crimean side—due to the climb of the elevation and the availability of defensible cliffs. Soren wasn’t about to disagree with their assessments.

Considering the poor condition of the bridge when last he crossed it, Soren worried what state it would be in when they arrived. But as they drew closer, scouts reported that Daein had been repairing and rebuilding the bridge since the war had begun. These reports also stated that a large Daein battalion was now stationed there and that one of Ashnard’s Four Riders was in command. Upon hearing this news, Soren didn’t know whether to be more or less anxious about the crossing.

The night before they would reach the bridge, the Liberation Army was unexpectedly rejoined by Captain Ranulf of Gallia. The agile blue cat had crossed the mountains at a less hospitable juncture, but in doing so, he’d successfully avoided the eyes of Daein scouts.

Ike greeted him as an old friend, grasping his arm and pulling him in for firm embrace. Elincia curtsied, to which Ranulf bowed appropriately, and Titania shook his hand heartily. Ike then introduced him to Tanith and the Begnion lieutenants. They greeted him formally, and some with slight discomfort. Although they’d traveled and fought among birds and beasts, meeting a new laguz seemed difficult for them. Tanith was the only exception. She was always formal, always cold, and never uncomfortable.

“I have news from King Caineghis,” Ranulf announced, his tone becoming serious after the warm welcome. In answer, Ike took Ranulf aside, and they spoke quietly.

Soren tried not to eavesdrop, and the others shuffled their feet and traded soft words while they waited. Before long, the pair returned.

“Daein and Gallia are on the brink of war,” Ike reported. “The Gallian elders have finally agreed to support Princess Elincia and help her regain the throne. They’ll meet us in Crimea.”

Soren was glad the laguz had finally seen sense (although it was still frustrating it had taken them this long to realize a weak, untested leader like Elincia made a better neighbor than a strong, warmongering king like Ashnard). “What do they want in return?” he asked.

Ike glanced at Ranulf as if embarrassed, but he didn’t appear insulted. He answered readily: “Only Elincia’s friendship, and the promise of future alliances between our two nations.”

Soren gave him a skeptical look.

In return, Ranulf offered Soren a small (albeit annoyed) smile. Then he turned his full gaze on Elincia. Kneeled respectfully, he declared: “My king would like me to assure you that the victory of our integrated Liberation Army will belong to Crimea alone. We are merely acting in support of your own troops.”

“Th-thank you,” Elincia stuttered in reply, and there was no mistaking that her gratitude was genuine. Ranulf got to his feet and flashed her a comforting grin. 

Soren hadn’t expected the laguz to be less trouble than Begnion, so this was a satisfying surprise. He made no further protests or questions. Ike adjourned the meeting, Ranulf was taken into the hospitality of Lethe and Mordecai, and Elincia retreated to her tent to rest. Titania had scouts waiting for her to debrief them, and surely Tanith and the lieutenants had their troops to tuck into bed (or whatever it was they did to keep an eye on the men and women under their command).

As for Soren, he had fresh reports of Riven Bridge to study and plans to finalize for tomorrow’s battle. Although the sun had already set, Soren knew there was still a long night ahead.

“Soren! Are you in here?” Ike’s voice called in a hoarse whisper from beyond the flap of the strategy tent. The summons was accompanied by a light tapping on the canvas.

He yawned and checked the oil level in the lantern on his desk. “Yes…” he answered, trying to awaken his mind. He’d been dozing off while surveying the latest reports, which wasn’t unusual. He preferred to sleep in the strategy tent than the one he shared with a dozen mercenaries (even if it was colder).

Ike entered quickly and closed the flap carefully behind him. Soren hoped he appeared busy but then realized Ike wasn’t even looking at him. He had his eye to the crack in the canvas. “Ike? It’s late. What do you want?”

“ _Shhhh!_ ”

Soren was quite confused by his behavior. If they were being raided ahead of the battle, surely he would hear sounds of conflict outside and surely Ike wouldn’t be hiding inside. It was unlike him to hide from anything. “Um, Ike?”

He moved a finger to his lips but kept one eye peering through the tent flap.

“Oh pooh,” pouted a woman’s voice outside. Her shadow cast its silhouette against the canvas. “How strange. I was sure he’d come this way,” she muttered. “ _Yoooowhoo!_ ”

Soren recognized the voice of Aimee the merchant. “That voice,” he whispered, “it’s the woman from the item shop, isn’t it?”

“Commander Ike? Where have you gone, handsome?” Aimee’s voice crooned. Her shadow grew bigger as she drew closer.

“Crud,” Ike cursed softly. In a single lunge, he leapt back, grabbed Soren’s arm, and hid them both behind the paltry frame of the folding desk.

“Did you run in here to escape?” Soren asked, keeping his voice low until he knew for certain what was going on.

“Look, whenever that woman corners me, it takes forever to get away. Let me hide in here until things simmer down,” Ike pleaded.

Soren hadn’t spent an evening alone with his friend for a long time—the last being a long night at the edge of a battlefield somewhere in the heart of Daein. Their lips had been dry and their voices cracked from rationing water, but they’d chatted long into the night anyway. Wind had whipped over the plains, straight into their tent, but it hadn’t been enough to engulf their whispers.

He recalled the long winter nights they’d spent together in Daein’s southern mountains almost a year ago now. His heart warmed at the prospect of talking, perhaps playing a game, and passing the hours until they both finally agreed to get some rest. He was tempted to give in, to let Ike stay. But reason intervened. “We begin marching early tomorrow morning. This is a waste of valuable time. I’ll go chase her away.” He stood abruptly and left the tent before he could change his mind.

“Wait! _Soren!_ ” Ike hissed, but he didn’t raise his voice or leave the desk’s illusion of safety.

A brazier was burning outside. Everyone should have been sleeping now except the soldiers on guard, and yet Aimee was jauntily walking about, peaking around corners and into tents She was holding a long, wrapped package in both hands. “Ike! Ikey-poo! Where _aaare_ you?” she moaned.

Frozen in his tracks by the ridiculous nickname, Soren summoned his composure and refused to laugh. He approached her. “Aimee?”

She turned around excitedly, but her expression fell when she saw him. “Oh. Soren.”

He was well aware that he lacked attractive qualities in either appearance or personality. He was small, strange, and often rude. He definitely couldn’t compare to Ike’s charm and good looks. Therefore he wasn’t offended by her lack of interest. He knew she was objectively beautiful with her lush black hair and bright eyes, but Soren wasn’t interested in her either.

Aimee forced a friendlier expression, apparently realizing she’d been rude. “I mean, um… hi. What are you doing out so late?”

“Do you have some business with Ike?” Soren asked, ignoring her false kindness.

“Well, yes I do,” she answered, her cheeks bunching with hope. “I found a special something that I’d like to give him. Do you know where he is?” She clutched the package closer to her chest.

“Ike is…in a war meeting,” Soren lied. “If you have something for him, I can hold onto it for you.” He extended his palms.

Aimee retreated slightly. “Hmmm… What should I do? You see, I have this new staff…” She unwrapped the top of the package to reveal its intricately carved head—polished bronze in the shape of what might be a horse’s head with dragon spines instead of a mane. At the center was a precious stone that wavered between blood red and indigo in the firelight. “It’s _very_ valuable. I’m not sure if I feel comfortable simply handing it over to someone who—” she seemed to search for the right excuse “—doesn’t understand that.”

Soren smirked at her floundering and read the word of power engraved on the staff: *Hammerne*. “That’s a Hammerne, is it not?” he asked, oddly satisfied to watch her expression sour as he proved her wrong. “A rare staff that can take any item, no matter how battered and worn, and repair it completely?” He’d seen the staff depicted in books, and its power was rumored to revitalize even an entire tome of spent spells. A rare item indeed, it had to be over a century old; no one had been able to enchant a new one in generations.

“Why…” Aimee frowned. “That’s right. You’re quite knowledgeable, aren’t you?” She sounded more annoyed than impressed.

“If I may continue, I believe there are only a few of these in all the world. It is truly priceless. And you want to give this to Ike?” Soren was tempted to betray Ike and announce his location just to get the incredible gift.

“Well, I _do_ want to be helpful,” Aimee smiled, sensing victory.

The temptation passed, and Soren shook his head. He would not betray his friend. “If you truly wish to capture Ike’s attention, bringing him staves and whatnot will avail you nothing.”

Aimee was crestfallen. “What? Really? Oh, dear… I was hoping he would like it.” She looked at the priceless staff like it was a worthless stick.

“Food, however, would be much more effective than a staff. He’s particularly fond of spicy meat dishes.” It was a lie of course—Ike would eat anything and had the digestive system of a goat, but the shopkeeper didn’t need to know that. In fact, Soren had heard Aimee was a terrible cook. This would at least buy Ike some time.

“Is that so?” Aimee looked frustrated. “Cooking is not something I’m skilled at, but…” She smiled hugely. “Oh, I’ve got it! I know the perfect dish!”

“Ah, good!” Soren agreed sarcastically, “He will be very pleased!” His eyes wandered to the Hammerne staff. “Now, about that staff?”

“ _Hee hee!_ ” Aimee laughed with a toss of her shoulder. “You can keep it as payment for the cooking tip!” She shoved it into his arms. “Take good care of it!” With that, she skipped merrily into the tent camp.

When she was gone, Soren said loud enough for Ike to hear: “Well, she’s unexpectedly generous.” He had no doubt Ike had been listening the entire time, and now he cautiously emerged. “I received something quite nice from your admirer, _Ikey-poo_. Thank you so much.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Ike whined. His expression was conflicted and confused.

“I think it would serve Mist well on the battlefield,” Soren continued, rewrapping the head. But Ike’s expression hadn’t eased. “Don’t worry. No one needs to know how it came into our possession.”

“Fine, fine.” Ike forced a laugh, but Soren could tell something was still bothering him. “Thanks a lot, Soren. You’re a good friend.”

“Naturally,” he replied while searching for his next words. A cruel quip to continue teasing him? Or he could invite Ike back inside. They could spend the rest of the evening together, as Ike had originally requested. Perhaps that was what Ike had wanted, more than getting rid of Aimee. Soren considered his behavior today. Was he nervous on the eve of battle? Certainly the crossing of Riven Bridge would be one of their hardest yet. Failure could mean losing Crimea forever, but that was nothing new. Finally he just said: “We march early. I suggest you get some sleep.”

“You’re probably right,” Ike sighed. Soren handed him the Hammerne staff, knowing he would get it to Mist. “Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

Ike walked off in the opposite direction of Aimee.

Soren returned to the strategy tent. He looked at the desk, on which was laid a map of the region, the weather prediction from their Begnion cloud watchers, and the latest report from their scouts monitoring the enemy troops. On top of all of this were a couple papers with his scratch-work notes about the attack tomorrow. And in the corner under the lantern sat four neatly transcribed copies of Titania’s latest personal hygiene notice to be distributed amongst the troops. He turned away from these documents toward the cot in the corner. There was nothing more he could do now that would hasten their victory tomorrow.

The Liberation Army marched early and set eyes on Riven Bridge before noon. Soren had positioned their aerial units strategically around the column, flying at heights above and below the usual altitude of a dracoknight scout. Whenever enemies had appeared, one unit from below and one unit from above had launched themselves at the wyvern in a pincer move. In this way, they thwarted Daein’s attempts to gather intel on their numbers and units. Unfortunately, Soren knew that wouldn’t be enough to give them an edge today.

Before signaling the charge, the Liberation Army nestled itself in the nooks and crannies of the mountainous terrain. The soldiers adjusted their weapons and armor and took this chance to eat, drink, and relieve themselves before the battle. Some were obviously nervous. Only the vanguard would take the bridge, while the majority of the troops stayed on land and watched. But they would all taste blood by the end of the day. 

Soren, Ike, Ranulf, Elincia, and Titania crept to cliffs’ edge to examine their enemy more closely. The sky was nearly cloudless, and they traded a spyglass from one to the next for a crisp view. As had been reported by the reconnaissance teams, Riven Bridge was well-fortified and guarded by a battalion even larger than the entire Liberation Army. Soren estimated a thousand cavalry and four thousand infantry on land, another thousand infantry on the bridge, and five hundred dracoknights in the air. There were also five large, rolling catapults on land, two stationary ballistae on the Crimean side of the bridge, four small scorpions stationed on the bridge itself, and one ballista on the Daein side. The entire bridge had been repaired since Soren’s last crossing, and now it was fit for battle. The Daeins had constructed and expertly spaced wooden mantlets and sandbag barricades, and he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d set traps as well. 

Once they’d seen all there was to see, Soren, Titania, and Elincia began moving back the way they’d come. But then Ranulf asked why Nasir wasn’t here, and everyone froze. Ike explained, and the others lingered to listen. Soren, for one, wanted to see Ranulf’s reaction.

“Nasir is a Daein spy? No way!” he exclaimed. “That’s not possible. He was _our_ spy!” This wasn’t the reaction Soren had expected, but the admission it contained was no surprise. Embarrassed, Ranulf proceeded to apologize for and explain Nasir’s role as an informant for Gallia during their trek to Begnion.

“None of this makes sense to me…” Ike was clearly dismayed.

“He worked for us on behalf of the King—but _Daein?_ As a laguz, he would have absolutely no reason to work for them.” Ranulf’s tail twitched indignantly.

“There was also a Goldoan named Ena who was working as a general for Daein,” Ike admitted.

Ranulf’s fists clenched. “Are you serious?”

Ike nodded. “We were forced to fight her in the Daein capital. When we attempted to capture her, Nasir intervened and allowed her to escape. He betrayed us.”

Ranulf scratched his chin and began pacing. Soren could only catch a word here and there from his muttering. “Maybe that was… If that’s the case, then… I can see why… No, even so, teaming up with Daein is just _too_ much… Hmm…”

“I hate to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing, but we still have a battle to attend to.” Ike gestured at the bridge and awaiting army.

“Let me speak to Nasir, please,” Ranulf begged, clearly distressed. 

“Once we’ve finished this battle, we can go together,” Ike agreed with a smile. “Alright?”

Ranulf nodded in relief. “Of course.”

They returned to their troops without another word, and Ike rallied them for the charge. As they marched out of hiding and onto the main road, Ike whispered to Soren: “Any last-minute suggestions?”

“Don’t fall over the side,” was his reply.

He hadn’t intended it as a joke, but to his surprise, Ike laughed heartily. His good mood spread to the soldiers and mercenaries who could hear him, and soon several people were laughing, even more were smiling, and the entire vanguard started moving faster. Then they were running, and the mounted units spurred their horses to the front.

Marcia, Jill, Tanith, Ulki, Janaff, Reyson, and the thirty remaining Holy Guards collided with the dracoknights overhead, and soon their shadows were swooping every which way in the stark sunlight. Feathers, scales, and drops of blood rained on the charging troops. The airborne regiment was vastly outnumbered, but they could still lead the dracoknights within range of the Begnion archers hiding in the cliffs.

When the vanguard reached the fortifications at the base of the bridge, their momentum blew through the first three barricades, behind which, engineers were struggling to reload a stone ballista. Soren had hardly noticed their first volley, the attack having failed to even slow the charging army. Titania and Kieran took them out easily, and Boyd and Devdan each pressed a shoulder into the ballista’s arm, grunting as they turned it one hundred and eighty degrees. Others loaded the bucket with scoops of stone shrapnel, and Shinon hopped into the control position, looking like a child with a new toy.

Here they were beset by archers, mages, and swordsmen. But the vanguard pushed through, and Shinon laughed as he used the Daeins’ own catapult against them. Soren’s feet touched stone, and he began casting spells as quickly as he could utter them, aware that they needed this momentum to carry them as far as it could.

However, it didn’t last as long as he would have liked. The bridge was too well-fortified and the enemy combatants too well-placed; their progress ground to a halt.

They struggled not to be pushed back when Daein slid their mantlets aside, creating two aisles down which a dozen of horsemen charged. Ike barely managed to order countermeasures in time. The vanguard’s front line lost ground and took shelter to avoid being impaled and trampled. Some weren’t so lucky, and their crushed bodies were carried to the rear, where a phalanx of Begnion clerics waited.

Fresh soldiers filled the front line, and Ike urged them onward, hacking the cavalry to pieces and trying to make up the ground they’d just lost. Progress was slow.

Eventually they came within range of the first scorpion. These ballistae were placed such that, from here until the last quarter of the bridge, Soren determined they’d have to be careful of the flying bolts. These engineers proved less clumsy than the ones overwhelmed by the initial charge. They were relatively quick to reload, and the Liberation Army’s only salvation was that the scorpions appeared rather difficult to aim. That being said, the long-shafted steel bolts flew relentlessly into the vanguard’s ranks, scattering soldiers while skewering others. Shields and armor were nothing to them.

If these weren’t challenging enough, Daein’s ranged defense was further bolstered by clusters of mages who proved to be excellent users of magic. A few even wielded advanced spells like Blizzard. This long-distance wind magic was rare and powerful, and the gales were not only sharp but freezing cold. Soren had never owned the spell himself, but he was determined to prove his superiority as a wind mage by taking out these green-cloaked soldiers as swiftly as possible.

He relied on Elfire for this, which (in theory) should be most effective against wind magic users. Racing past his embattled comrades, he joined the front line to get as close as possible to the enemy mages. Here he unleashed fireballs from a variety of angles, trying to keep them confused. They were forced to abandoned their Blizzard attacks to conjure defensive gusts of Wind and Elwind. Soren felt the invisible blades graze his skin, but he was more resistant to wind magic than most. He could see the spells coming as if the disturbances in the air were as clear as steel swords, and the spirits balked before they bit him, caught somewhere between his will and the enemy mages’. 

By the time the mages were dead, Soren was sliced from head to toe as if he’d just been swimming in a pool of razors. But none of the wounds were deep, and he wasn’t losing so much blood that he couldn’t keep fighting. Although he fell back slightly, he tried to stay near Ike, who fought in the front line and called encouragement to his troops: “Do you see that? That’s Crimea! Right over there! Soldiers of Begnion, of Gallia, of Phoenicis—even if this is not your home, it’s somebody’s home. Fight for that! Fight for Crimea. It’s Princess Elincia’s home. It’s my home. Fight for Crimea! We’re almost there!”

His troops rallied to his call. They pushed harder. They made another dozen yards’ headway. But here the Daeins began activating their traps.

First the retreating soldiers threw down Shine Barriers—enchanted scrolls that created temporarily impassible walls of light. With these, they halted the Liberation Army’s advance long enough to organize themselves behind the next barricades. Once the magic faded, Ike and the others charged forward, but this wasn’t the end of Daein’s plan.

As Soren had suspected, they’d added their own alterations to the bridge when they’d repaired it. Holes had been dug in the floor, covered with a loosely interlocking, un-plastered bricks. The Daein soldiers stepped over these places, but when a mercenary or Begnion soldier set foot here, they were plunged up to their hips or shoulders, depending on the depth, and sometimes their feet dangled over the chasm below. Horses twisted and broke their front legs, and soldiers wasted time pulling out their comrades only to get stuck themselves with the next advance. Soren payed careful attention to the way the enemy soldiers managed their footing in order to avoid the hassle and embarrassment of becoming trapped himself.

Eventually Ike fell into one of these holes, and the army held its breath as he was helped out by Lethe and Zihark. Once he was safe, he continued to fight just as before, but morale had sunk low and they were slowly being pushed back. At that moment, Daein unleashed yet another surprise maneuver.

Once again opening aisles between the staggered barricades, the ebon soldiers made way for roaring beasts. The feral laguz bounded to the front and tore into the first people who stood in their way. Soren was momentarily stunned. They hadn’t faced the corrupted laguz since Begnion, and so he’d assumed they had been purely a Begnion invention. Perhaps that had been naïve of him. The smugglers would surely have sold to anyone who would buy them, and Daein would surely have paid. As he turned the pages of his tome back to his fire spells and squared his stance to the nearest beast, Soren wondered if he was still being too close-minded. It was possible the feral ones had been invented by Daein in the first place. 

He had no time to speculate further, because the creature before him seemed to resent its mangy coat being set aflame. Roaring in rage and pain, it abandoned its previous target and bounded for him instead. He unleashed another Elfire spell, but it was unclear whether that finished the beast off or Nephenee’s spear, which she threw with such force into its head that she altered the beast’s trajectory. But its momentum still carried it forward, and its bony haunches swung into Soren before he could get out of the way. The air was knocked out of his lungs, and both he and the beast topped near the edge. The feral tiger’s heavy body fell, still burning, over the side, while Soren held onto the parapet for dear life.

A red-armored halberdier seized the hood of his cloak and dragged him back to relative safety. Gasping to catch his breath, Soren took a moment to assess the battle. The Begnion soldiers were clearly shaken by the appearance of the feral laguz, but the experienced mercenaries knew how to handle them. Reyson had stopped singing his galdr and was staring, clearly appalled, while he hovered in the sky above the troops. Ulki and Janaff flew to join him, and it appeared they were trying to comfort him, although Soren couldn’t hear a word.

While his eyes were on the sky, he noticed a dracoknight floating even higher above the battle. This was not unusual, considering it’d been practically raining wyverns since this battle had begun. But this particular unit was peculiar, because he’d an opening to attack and hadn’t taken it. He could have slaughtered Reyson when the prince hadn’t been looking up, killing him before Ulki or Janaff reached him.

Furthermore, the wyvern was an unusual color—black rather than the normal red. This was not the first time he’d encountered a black wyvern, so Soren squinted for a closer look. The rider had a tell-tale eyepatch over his right eye. If he wasn’t mistaken, this was the captain of the Talregan Guard and the man who’d surrendered to the Liberation Army after Shiharam Fizzart had been defeated. Even if his indenture had expired and his debt been repaid, his and his wyvern’s armor should have been destroyed. Needless to say, it was frustrating to see him again.

“Hey, in’t that the dracoknight who done surrend’d ta us in Talrega?” Nephenee asked, apparently following Soren’s gaze. The battle had moved on without them.

“Not much of a surrender,” Soren replied, “if he is fighting for Daein again.”

To get to the bottom of this situation, Jill was Soren’s best resource. But she was fighting another dracoknight right now, far from her Talregan comrade. He looked around for some way of contacting her and saw Shinon.

“Shinon!” he called. “Get Jill’s attention.”

“If you say so,” he sneered and immediately shot an arrow in a high arc. It was precisely aimed and flew right past Jill’s face, sticking her opponent in the eye. The body slumped in its saddle, and its distressed wyvern flew away.

Jill twisted around furiously to see who’d shot at her. Shinon pointed at Soren. Soren held up his hand to get her attention. Wary and still angry, Jill guided her wyvern down to them. Shinon didn’t linger, making his way back to the frontlines. Knowing that was where he should be, Soren began talking as soon as Jill was within earshot and in as few words as possible: “Your friend from Talrega is back.” He pointed upward.

“Captain Haar’s here?” Jill replied, her voice full of surprise and hope. “I’ll talk to him!” With a flick of her reigns, her wyvern beat its massive green wings and pulled her high in the air.

Satisfied that Jill would handle the situation if it needed handling, Soren pushed his way to the front. Ike was in the lead, retaking ground lost to the feral laguz attack. He was injured, but not dangerously so. Soren was relieved, as he always was, to see he was okay. Titania and Ranulf fought on his left and right, and the three were laying waste to the soldiers and mages before them. Soren took his place just behind them, conjuring flames, gales, and lightning strikes in the enemy ranks.

When Ike fell back to be healed by an ever-present Mist, Soren took his chance to speak to him. “We are nearly two thirds of the way across,” he reported.

Mist gave Ike a flask from around her neck and set about inspecting his injured wrist. Soren thought it looked badly broken, but he was no expert.

Ike drank the water and replied, “That can’t be all you have to tell me.”

“Jill seems to have enlisted a Daein deserter to our cause.” Soren continued, pointing to the sky where Jill and Haar had been fighting side-by-side since the pair had reunited. “You may recognize the black wyvern and his one-eyed rider from our time in Talrega.”

Ike looked up and nodded in interest while Mist’s staff glowed green over his wrist and arm. “What does he say?”

“I have not had the chance to speak to him,” Soren explained curtly. “But I recommend you do. He may have information on the forces awaiting us on the other side.” He glanced at the majority of the Daein battalion still assembled calmly on the Crimean side of the border. 

“Yeah, you don’t need to remind me,” Ike sighed. “This battle won’t be half over until we reach land.” With that, he clapped Mist on the arm, showing that his wrist was all but completely healed. “Tell Ranulf and Titania to keep pushing their left side. I’ll be right back.” He stood and ran off without another word.

Mist glanced at Soren and used her staff to push herself into a standing position. She looked exhausted. “You heard him,” she said, glancing a little forlornly at where her brother had disappeared. “Let’s rejoin the others at the front.”

Soren nodded, and they hurried to support the mercenaries at the head of the army, who’d managed to gain several yards in the time Ike had been under Mist’s care. As soon as they arrived, Soren began chanting spells and Mist exchanged her staff for her sword. Although Soren knew she was strong and skilled, she seemed to be conserving her energy. She settled for picking off soldiers who regained their footing after being struck down by another mercenary. As always, she was more concerned with the state of her allies than her enemies. Her eyes looked for openings in her friends’ flesh, not in her opponent’s guard.

“Ike says to keep going! They’re weak on the left,” Mist reported with a touch on Ranulf’s flank. He yowled in affirmation and lunged forward as if her touch had released a spring in his haunches.

“ _Hyaah!_ ” Titania sang, kicking her horse and confirming that she’d heard Mist’s order. “To me!” she called, and mercenaries and soldiers alike thronged to her position. They pushed through another barricade and slashed through the enemy ranks on the left side of the bridge. Soren did his best to help by watching the enemy archers and mages and taking them out before they could do any real damage. Mist, meanwhile, split away to heal the gravely injured.

Jill and Haar eventually reappeared in the sky above, and Soren knew Ike wouldn’t be far behind. His troops cheered when he returned, parting to create a path that led him straight to a Daein shield knight. The armored soldier slammed his steel pavise to the ground between two barricades, securely closing the gap. Soren knew from watching the footwork of the enemy soldiers that there was a trap hole in front of him, and he opened his mouth to warn Ike. But there wasn’t time, and it wasn’t necessary. Ike used a broken pike to vault over the trap and the enemy shield. Twisting and drawing his sword, he wrapped one arm around the soldier’s helmet and sunk his blade under his chest plate. The knight fell, and Ike landed on his feet among enemy troops.

But his mercenaries weren’t about to let him stay there alone. Devdan thrust out his halberd, reaching for the fallen shield. With a flick of his wrist, he grabbed the leather strap and pulled it over the trap hole. Then he was the first to cross over, spinning his spear in tight circles to block enemy blows aimed at both Ike and himself. Titania was the next to cross, and then Stefan. Ranulf and Mordecai climbed over the sandbags on either side, toppling them in the process. Makalov and Kieran leapt their horses over the shortened obstructions, and Calill and Tormod ducked behind what was left to avoid a slew of Daein arrows. When they popped up again, Soren joined them in an onslaught of fire and wind.

When the immediate threat had passed, Soren found Ike and called him back. He retreated, panting and pale. His headband was soaked with sweat and blood. “What news from the Talregan captain?”

“He came to fight Petrine of the Four Riders. He may not like us, but he currently hates Ashnard and his cronies a lot more. He’s on our side.”

“General Petrine,” Soren repeated, glancing at the ranks awaiting them on Crimean soil, “So that is the Rider Ashnard chose to lead this defense.”

“She was trouble, even for my father,” Ike added somberly.

“We won’t fight her alone like he did.”

Ike’s mouth twisted into a resolved grin, but he merely grunted in response. Then he turned his gaze to the javelin whistling toward them. Soren had heard it as well, and the pair jumped apart to avoid it. There was no more time for conversation.

They were nearing the final scorpion, and while Ike and Ranulf traded blows with the charging soldiers, Soren stepped forward and decided to do something about it. He flipped to his most advanced wind spell, Tornado, and rather than slaying an individual, he targeted the scorpion’s entire vicinity. The ballista burst in splinters of wood, the sandbags in front of it erupted into a cyclone of dirt, and the winds picked up the engineer and surrounding archers, throwing their bodies into those outside the spell’s radius. Despite being impaled with debris and sliced by the winds, it appeared no one had died, but Mia and Stefan rectified the situation by rushing out and dipping their blades into the necks of anyone trying to rise. 

Oscar leapt his horse over the debris, and his spear decapitated an enemy axman before his mare’s front legs even touched the ground. Behind him jumped Makalov, who had a sword in either hand and was guiding his steed with his knees.

Ike and Ranulf rushed to finish their own battles so they could join the others at the new front. Soren hated to admit it, but Ike really did fight best when at the head of his company. He fought in Greil’s style: fast and strong, unrelenting, never wavering. He looked his opponents in the eye when he killed them, and he was always roaring as if victory was assured. He may not have been the biggest man in the fray, but his troops could always tell where he was.

They were finally nearing the end of the bridge, and Ike signaled for the rest of the forces to start crossing. A moment later, a final surge of energy pushed the Crimea Liberation Army onto solid land, demolishing the ballistae here.

But Petrine was no fool. Most of her soldiers had already retreated to form a defensive line fifty yards back. She’d forsaken the bridge at the last minute, knowing the remaining men were most useful as a suicide line between her battalion and the Liberation Army. Having failed to hold the bridge, these soldiers would now throw themselves at their enemy without fear of pain or death. Such was the price of honor for Daein soldiers in a time of war. Soren had seen such tactics often enough this past year.

Ike called the vanguard to a halt and ordered everyone to form a line to match Petrine’s. Only a small regiment still saw action, led by a Begnion lieutenant to seize the watchtower just to the north. Petrine had stocked it with archers, but these were apparently expendable, because she made no move to defend it. Marcia leapt from her pegasus’s back, making herself a small target as she flew like an arrow into the top battlements. With her taking the garrison by surprise at the top and with the Begnion commander purging it from the bottom, the tower was soon won. Upon Ike’s order, Mist, Rhys, and the others healers swiftly colonized it as a triage station, and those too injured to fight in the coming battle retreated here.

While this was happening, the rest of the army marched easily down the bridge. The clearing troops had pushed aside or dismantled the remnants of the Daein’s defenses, and these soldiers passed in minutes what the others had taken almost two hours to conquer.

Soren turned his gaze back to the new battlefield, and leaving Ike’s side, he took his place alongside the other mercenaries, becoming part of a line that was as taut as a bowstring. He could feel the Begnion soldiers filling in additional rows behind him, and he could see the rows lengthening on either side. But this was not entirely encouraging. The heavy losses Daein had sustained on the bridge had helped equalize the size of these two armies, but the Liberation Army was still outnumbered—and now they stood with their backs to a gaping abyss.

Soren’s gaze finally found Petrine, who sat astride a large black stallion, walking it calmly between the neat columns of fresh soldiers behind her and the ragged row of retreaters in front of her. Her horse, like Petrine herself, was plated in elegantly wrought black armor. In her hand, she gripped the notorious flame lance that was her weapon of choice. It was a long, wicked-looking weapon, and even from this distance Soren could see the spear point scatter sparks every time she changed direction. 

She didn’t order her men to attack yet. Soren noted the five catapults imbedded in her ranks—each loaded and aimed at the Liberation Army. But neither did Petrine order them to be fired. Soren understood her patience. She was waiting for her enemy to assemble in a tightly-packed herd for maximum efficacy of the projectiles. It was almost enough for Soren to recommend they charge now, but he knew attacking too soon, when the army wasn’t all present and hadn’t all been given their orders, was even more dangerous than allowing themselves to become the Daein engineers’ target practice.

Finally the bridge was empty, and both armies were ready. Petrine raised her fist, and the ballistae creaked. “Watch out!” Ike called, and Soren prepared for the worst.

But then something unexpected occurred. Screams of fear and surprise arose in the back of the Daeins’ southern flank. Other soldiers called out in alarm, frantically twisting around and back again, not knowing which direction to face. Petrine dropped her fist, turned in her saddle, and uttered something that was probably a curse.

A moment later, a cavalry army burst from the forest, broadsiding the Daein battalion. The horses and riders were just barely visible through the rows of glittering black armor that separated Ike’s army from this new one. But the commotion they caused was obvious.

Soren didn’t have time to examine these newcomers further, because Petrine’s interrupted gesture had released the catapults after all. A spattering of stones the size of human heads soared toward the Liberation Army, and Ike roared the order to charge: “Now!” he screamed. “Charge now! This is Crimea! We made it! Charge now!”

Mercenaries and soldiers dodged the projectiles to the best of their ability, but the suicide line surged to meet them. Careless of their own lives, they didn’t fear the onslaught of rock and falling from the sky. They cared only that they slow the Liberation Army’s charge and force them to linger in the ballistae’s range. To Soren’s frustration, they were successful.

While uttering spells and watching the quickly shifting tides of battle, Soren spared part of his attention to see what Petrine was up to. She had cantered to the center of her army, where she now seemed to be dividing her forces to deal with the parallel threats.

The Liberation Army overcame the suicide line at great cost and finally clashed with the fresh soldiers. Here they were relatively safe from the ballistae and archers, and hand-to-hand combat broke out all around. The terrain was rocky and flat, and there was no tactical advantage to gain.

As the Liberation Army pushed into the heart of the enemy battalion, Ike engaged Petrine twice to no effect. The Rider seemed to have no intention of fighting Ike one-on-one as she had with Greil, so another Daein soldier (or two or three) would promptly waylay him. And even when Ike did manage to trade a few blows with the Rider, she easily defended herself. He couldn’t even scratch her armor.

Makalov and Marcia tried a combination attack—Marcia from above and Makalov from the front. But all Petrine had to do was slam the butt of her spear on the ground beside her horse, and a wave of flame shot out in all directions. It climbed the front legs of Makalov’s steed, sending it screaming in fright and pain. Then Petrine gestured sharply into the sky and shot a jet of flame at Marcia. Her pegasus reared in terror and nearly dropped out of the air.

In the wake of these defeats, a path had opened up between Soren and the enemy general. Knowing it was his turn to try his hand at attacking her, Soren carefully advanced. Petrine saw him approaching and sent a wave of flame to meet him. However, Soren knew these tricks by now. He skipped over the wave, to which she replied by shooting a jet of fire. To avoid this, Soren sought shelter behind a fallen horse. When he emerged, she sent another wave, but Soren once again needed only to time his jump appropriately. Now she slashed her spear through the air, sending an arc of fire racing toward him. Soren ducked to avoid this, never stopping his forward movement.

Petrine maintained her onslaught of fiery attacks, but they were more predictable and easier to avoid than Ena’s dragon breath. They were also weaker than the dragon’s flame, and he found he could redirect or block them with wind magic if he timed his spells correctly. In this way, inch by inch, Soren fended off her attacks and drew closer.

When he was near enough, Soren finally attempted to strike the enemy general directly. First he cast Elwind, then Elfire, and finally Elthunder. The onslaught was quick and precise, and Soren hoped one of the elements would be more effective than the others.

However, Petrine had incredible reflexes and complete mastery of her mount. She avoided every spell. Soren tried again. And again. He kept up the onslaught, but even when a spell made a connection, it hardly seemed to faze her. The armor she wore was obviously enchanted, blunting the force of magical attacks. Before long, Soren was on the defensive again, trying his best to avoid not just the fire but the long reach of the spear itself. He ducked, rolled, sidestepped, lunged, and jumped to avoid her strikes. Soren was light on his feet and had good instincts. Those were the only things protecting him now.

“You…” Petrine eventually said. Her eyes widened, but she didn’t slow her attacks. “That mark on your brow.”

Irritated by the observation, Soren sent a particularly sharp gale straight for her face: “*Spirits of wind, slash the flesh before me.*”

Petrine divided the attack with her blade, sending the gusts to either side. Her long green hair fluttered in the breeze, and several strands were sliced free and fluttered away from her body. Deep cuts like claw marks appeared in the armor over her shoulders, but she was otherwise undamaged.

Petrine smiled. “That’s not a charm of the dead, is it? You’re no Spirit Charmer.” She shot a blast of fire.

Rather than avoid it, Soren cast a large plume of flame himself. He poured his energy into the spell until it finally overcame Petrine’s and blew up in her face.

“Hmph!” Petrine gasped. Her horse reared, whinnying in terror. But the fire couldn’t burn Petrine or her steed. Apparently its armor was enchanted as well. “You may be able to fool others, but not me,” she continued, “Because we’re the same, see?” Her grin twisted to the side, crooked and cruel.

Soren glanced around to make sure none of his company was close enough to hear Petrine’s words, and he was fairly satisfied everyone was too busy locked in their own battles to pay attention. However, Soren was nothing if not cautious, and he refused to respond directly. “The same?” he repeated, then casting an Elthunder spell she easily grounded with her spear. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m nothing like you. You kill for sport, and hide your fear behind a wall of bravado. Now let me show you true fear.” He flipped the pages of his tome to the incantation for Tornado _._ After the trick he pulled on the bridge, he only had two left. _I’ll make this count,_ he thought. But even as he concentrated on gathering the swirling storm around him, he was distracted by what Petrine had said.

He focused on her with every sense he could muster. He wanted to understand her every movement, see her every breath. Part of him was looking for a weakness. But another part was searching for whatever it was she and Stefan had sensed in him. If she was a Branded as she implied, it stood to reason that Soren would be able to determine this fact with as much certainly as she’d just identified him. What was this power Branded had to recognize one another?

The spell complete, Soren ceased his chanting and released the attack. The winds surged upon Petrine from all sides. She cast walls of fire to block the gales, but they weren’t strong enough. The winds ripped through her defenses, through her horse’s armor and flesh, and even through some of her own. While he stood firmly, maintaining the storm as long as he could, Soren continued to press the boundaries of his senses. Petrine’s steed collapsed. She hit the ground, rolling away to keep her footing, and that’s when he felt it, as if a tremor had just run through the earth from her body to the soles of his feet.

It was like a slight tingling, and yet it wasn’t a physical sensation at all. Soren felt the small hairs on his forearms and the back of his neck stand on end. It was too faint to be a scent, and too unidentifiable. It was more like a breath, but without sound or smell or heat.

Despite the weakness of the signal, its familiarity was potent. It felt like returning to the mercenary’s fort after a long time away—the drafty halls, the odor of the old rooms, the unique way sound echoed off the stone walls and ceilings. It felt like putting on an old pair of socks he’d lost for months and found under his bed, only then realizing they’d been gone. This strange sensation said only one thing: _We are the same_.

Soren was stunned. She really was a Branded. As was Stefan. Soren was suddenly acutely aware of the hermit’s presence elsewhere on the battlefield. Taking a long breath, Soren could suddenly feel everyone around him: a sea of beorc with some scattered flashes of laguz—and then there was Stefan, Petrine, and Soren himself.

Overwhelmed as he was by this sudden consciousness, he didn’t notice Petrine rise from where she’d fallen, clutch her spear, and spin it in a fiery circle. The blade ripped across Soren’s chest and sent him flying into the dirt. The weapon’s magic instantly cauterized the wound, but it didn’t matter. The spear had slashed deep, grazing so close to his heart he could feel its heat in his blood.


	11. CHAPTER 42: CRIMEA

The strike had gouged both his lungs. Soren lay there, gasping but unable to breath. He stared at the sky and panicked in the face of imminent death. Was he really going to die by Petrine’s hand, on the cusp of Crimea, with far more of Ike’s war left to fight? It felt unfair to leave so much unfinished and Ike to fight on alone.

But then a healer was standing over him, blocking Soren’s view of the sky with his square hat and cowl. The milk-white fabric was embroidered with red. He was one of the new Begnion healers who’d joined them.

“*Heal*,” the bishop muttered so quietly Soren could hardly hear him. His staff responded to the instruction, and a green light seeped through Soren’s field of vision.

The healing was agonizing. It had never hurt like this when Mist or Rhys had tended his wounds, and Soren wondered if this man knew what he was doing. He wanted to spit angry words, but he couldn’t speak. His breath was barely coming back to him in fits and starts as his lungs rebuilt themselves. His heart seemed to stop and start again in random bursts. Each one brought a new wave of terrifying pain

The process seemed to go on forever—much longer than Soren was used to. He wondered if the wound was beyond this man’s ability to heal. He wondered if he would still die, and panic washed over him again.

“You!” Soren heard Petrine’s voice. She was nearby, and her shout brought him back to the present. “If I’d known you’d grow to be such a thorn in my side-” she grunted as she fought “-I would have reduced you to ashes when I had the chance-” more grunts “-Guess it’s not too late. Die!” Soren recognized the hoarse roars and grunts accompanying Petrine’s own. It was Ike.

He had engaged her again, which was probably the only reason she hadn’t finished Soren off or immolated the bishop kneeling over him. He followed their battle with his ears while he endured the pain of the healing. He listened intently to Ike’s breaths, ragged but stronger than his own. His vision began to fade, and he focused all of his attention on the sound of Ike fighting, his growls of frustration, and the nonsensical sounds he shouted when he swung his sword.

“Just die!” Ike finally screamed. At his words, the sound of crackling fire went out in a low _whump_ , and the sounds of crashing metal ceased.

“Y-your…your Majesty…forgive me…please,” tumbled the moans of Petrine’s last breath. “Oh, I don’t want to die…”

Soren realized he must be quite close to the battle to hear her dying words. Then again, perhaps his hearing had expanded along with this odd sixth sense. The idea made Soren sick, and he felt like he was going to vomit. In fact, he did. Turning onto his side, he heaved just next to the bishop. The green glow disappeared, and he stood in surprise.

Soren wanted to wipe his mouth, but his arms wouldn’t obey him. The wound on his chest burst open from his convulsions, pouring blood. He was shaking. He was becoming numb, but he was still acutely aware of Ike dashing over to him.

“How is he?” Ike’s voice demanded.

“I will continue to work on him, my Lord,” said the bishop. “But he is fighting me.”

Soren glared sideways at him since he couldn’t move or speak. He wasn’t one of those soldiers who became so soft in the head that they resisted healing. He wanted to live.

Ike whistled urgently and called at the top of his lungs, “ _MIST!_ ”

Whether or not she heard his call, Ike and the bishop pushed Soren back into a supine position. Ike snatched the bishop’s fancy hat off his head and pushed it against his chest to staunch the bleeding. Soren appreciated seeing that, and his involuntary laugh came up a bloody gurgle.

Meanwhile, he was aware of a beorc and laguz approaching—Mist and Lethe. He turned his newfound sense to the sound of fighting in the distance. The battle had moved away. Although he couldn’t see the troops’ movements, he could tell the Liberation Army was winning. Fear and joy filled the battlefield; the Daeins were fleeing or being slaughtered. The smell of blood rushed into his nose like never before, and he felt he was going to retch again. _Is this how a laguz senses the world?_ he wondered in disgust. _Why did I push myself to understand Petrine? What have I done?_

“I’ve got him,” Mist said, getting to her knees. “Ike, they need you at the font. There’s a lady who wants to see Princess Elincia.”

Ike nodded and pressed a reassuring hand to Soren’s shoulder before running off. Mist glanced at the bishop. “You can go.”

The healer obeyed, apparently not willing to argue with the general’s sister. Soren could barely see Lethe pacing nearby. Clearly she resented having been reassigned as Mist’s bodyguard this late in the battle.

Mist hissed sympathetically through her teeth as she removed the bloody hat, proceeding to poke at Soren’s wound with careful fingers. “He made a mess, I’m afraid. But he probably saved your life.” Her tone was calm.

“*Mend*,” she commanded her staff, and a green glow once again filled Soren’s vision. It was so bright he had to close his eyes. This was the healing Soren was used to—no pain, only the easing of it.

When he felt he could talk again, he asked, “Was that man a novice?”

“No,” Mist answered. “I’m sure he was well educated. But you’re used to Rhys and me healing your wounds.” She released a sweet laugh. “Frankly, the pair of us know the bodies of every Greil Mercenary as well as we know our own, and that allows us to heal you much more quickly and smoothly.”

“I never knew,” Soren admitted, opening his eyes.

Mist tossed her shoulder, still holding her staff steadily. “You heal quicker than most. Rather than working with your body, that man was working against you. That probably hurt.”

Soren closed his eyes again. Mist may not have suspected he was a Branded, or even knew what a Branded was, but she knew he was different. He’d never realized he healed more quickly than the others, and neither Mist nor Rhys had ever mentioned it. _I heal like a laguz,_ he thought dismally.

When Mist was done, she helped him sit up. Soren traced his fingertips over the freshly grown skin. To his surprise, there was a rough ridge. Only hastily or incompetently healed wounds left scars; Mist never did. 

“Sorry about that,” she said with a shake of her head. “The scar tissue was already there from what the bishop did. There was nothing I could do. But it’s only on the surface, so you should be able to breathe fine.”

“It’s doesn’t matter.” Soren sighed and was glad the air moved smoothly in and out of his lungs. “You are an exemplary healer, Mist.”

She smiled broadly at the praise and began humming Elena’s heron galdr while she wiped her hands of his blood.

“The battle has moved on,” Lethe spoke up, “And there are more wounded where it has gone. Shall we go?”

Mist got to her feet and offered Soren a hand, but he pushed himself to stand without her help. He was dizzy from blood loss, but he couldn’t bring himself to lean on the young, cheerful healer right now. Mist stepped back. “Yes,” she answered Lethe, “Let’s go.”

The two women jogged off. Soren shuffled in the same direction, but that was the best he could do. He passed Petrine’s dead body. Her face was frozen in horror, and Soren was satisfying to know Ike had defeated her. Lifting his gaze to the living, he watched the battle drawing to a close. The Daein soldiers who hadn’t managed to escape were surrendering their weapons and kneeling on the bloody, rocky ground. Only a small faction seemed insistent on fighting to the death.

Meanwhile Ike was meeting someone who might be the leader of the mysterious battalion that had come to their aid. The new troops boasted an infantry regiment of about two hundred and a large cavalry regiment that could number as many as eight hundred. But the battle-riled horses were still trotting and frisking around the Daein prisoners, and Soren’s foggy mind found it difficult to get a proper estimate. Most of the soldiers were wearing the cream-white armor of Crimea, although their uniforms had been painted with green and brown streaks in an attempt at camouflage.

Soren hoped this indicated an enduring rebellion in Crimea and the survival of the royal army. The addition of Crimean-born soldiers would be a boon to their own army, both in fighting strength and symbolic authority. He was curious (and perhaps even optimistic) about what would happen next.

But he was also physically exhausted from the battle and mentally exhausted from the increase in his senses. He put his thoughts of Crimea aside and tried to understand his new awareness of the spent battlefield. Sounds weren’t necessarily louder, but they were clearer and more nuanced. Every scent was more pungent and distinct. The colors around him weren’t more vibrant, but there were somehow more diverse. The puddles of blood, rather than just being red, were a vast range of reds and browns. This would take some getting used to.

As he walked slowly toward the rest of the army, Titania galloped past with Elincia sitting behind her. The princess smiled and waved, but Soren didn’t return the gesture.

When he finally arrived, the princess was grasping forearms with a young swordswoman. She had sky-blue hair so long it extended past her waist, and her skin was so pale it seemed nearly translucent. Soren wondered if she was about to faint, but after a moment’s inspection, he realized she was unharmed. The blood that matted her hair and splashed her long white cloak and her tall white boots was not her own.

“There is no need to worry about that,” she was saying while beaming into Elincia’s face. “Tales of your exploits in Daein have reached every corner of Crimea. In every village, in every town, the people are talking. ‘Our fair king had a hidden child,’ they say. ‘The secret princess of Crimea is fighting to save us all!’” She laughed when Elincia blushed. “Furthermore,” she continued with a wink, “Daein soldiers have been frantically searching for a mysterious and elusive ‘Princess Crimea.’ All they have succeeded in doing is _convincing_ the people that you are truly their princess. All of Crimea has been anxiously awaiting your return.” She laughed again, and this time Elincia joined her. The pair danced in a circle like children.

“Oh, Lucia, do you speak truly?” Elincia released her friend’s arms with a long happy breath. “They have…acknowledged my existence? I never…expected this day.”

The swordswoman—Lucia—continued to reassure Elincia, jabbering on about the underground efforts to oust Ashnard, but Soren turned his attention to Ranulf and Ike, who had observed the reunion and were now talking nearby. “News of your actions in Daein reached the ears of King Gallia through Nasir,” Ranulf was saying. “I then told Lucia, who passed it to the citizenry. You know, the thought that Nasir is a traitor just doesn’t feel right to me. I still can’t believe it.” He shook his head.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” Ike replied in hushed tones. Soren realized he wouldn’t have been able to overhear this conversation before today. It would have been murmuring, just voices, but now they were distinct words. Soren stared at the ground and wondered if he should be eavesdropping. “Look at what we know about the medallion,” Ike was saying. “We discovered it thanks to his hints. He’s helped us throughout our entire journey. In that, at least, he was not false. But if he won’t speak, there is nothing I can do to save him.”

“Let’s go see him,” Ranulf growled, “One way or another, I will loosen his tongue.”

The pair gave Elincia their farewells and left orders with Titania to lead the troops in setting up camp. Soren watched them go but remained with the army. As tired as he was, he could best serve Ike by assisting Titania. Ike didn’t need him to help interrogate Nasir (and after his last attempt, Soren wasn’t eager to try again). If anything valuable came to light, Soren knew Ike would tell him.

As an additional incentive, Soren knew the sooner camp was set up, the sooner he could sleep. He already felt unconsciousness calling. However, it appeared Soren wouldn’t be able to rest yet, because not long after Ike and Ranulf’s departure, they came running back down Riven Bridge. Soren, Titania, Elincia, and Lucia raced to meet them. “He’s gone!” Ike explained. “Nasir is gone!”

“How?” Elincia gasped.

Lucia scowled. “That was the traitor you were keeping prisoner, right?”

Ranulf jerked his chin back the way they’d come. “The merchants and the guard all claimed to have seen nothing suspicious. He’s just gone.”

“I’ll organize a search party,” Titania said, sounding frazzled with urgency and exhaustion. “He can’t have gone far!” She ran to where some horses were tethered near the watchtower and commandeered the first one she reached.

Meanwhile Ranulf transformed and added: “I’ll recruit the other laguz. Maybe we can pick up his trail!” He bounded away on all fours.

Stomping across the battlefield, Ike grumpily took over the camp preparations, although Soren knew he would have rather joined the search. Lucia comforted Elincia, and rumor quickly spread of Nasir’s escape. Despite feeling alarmed (and oddly offended) by Nasir’s disappearance, Soren was too tired to deal with it. His senses were overwhelming, and he longed for the escape of sleep. As soon as an officer’s tent had been erected, Soren found a cot and collapsed into unconsciousness. 

When he awoke, he judged at least five hours had passed. It was night now, but instinct told him it wasn’t yet late. He tracked down Ike and found him still awake. Rather than nagging him to sleep, he asked about Nasir.

Ike shook his head. His eyes were hollow. “He disappeared like a phantom. Even the laguz couldn’t track him down. They’re still out searching, but I have a feeling Nasir is long gone.” He sighed. “And yet I also have a feeling I will meet him again…before this war is over.”

Soren had a similar feeling, but instead of agreeing he said, “All we can do now is move forward.”

Ike took a fortifying breath and twitched a weak grin. “I am glad you’re up. I was just about to meet with Lucia and her deputies to plan our next move, and I was terrified I’d have to go alone. That was quite the scratch you got earlier.”

Soren had changed robes, but he was aware of the scar stretching tightly across his chest. His hand strayed to it now, but he stopped himself. “Petrine was a formidable opponent. But you defeated her.” _Commander Greil would be proud,_ Soren added mentally, but he didn’t say it. Ike didn’t need his coddling.

Ike nodded, seeming to accept the unspoken compliment. “Well, like you said, I didn’t have to do it alone. You took out her enchanted armor.”

“I would say it was nothing, but…” Soren shook his head.

“I don’t know how she got the drop on you like that, but don’t let it happen again.” Ike’s face was serious.

“I will do my best.”

Ike frowned. “Are you sure you don’t want some armor, I mean-”

Soren couldn’t help but smile. “I’m a mage, Ike. I need to be able to move.”

“What about some chain-”

“I am flattered by your concern,” Soren shut him down. “But did you not just say Lady Delbray was awaiting us? We should be going.”

Ike sighed. “Right, right. Just don’t go dying on me.”

“I am trying, Ike,” he replied honestly. Today’s battle had been long and frightening, and Soren had a bad feeling everything was going to be different after this. But now more than ever, he refused to leave Ike to fight this war on his own. There was so much left to do.

The next step for the Crimea Liberation Army was to increase its influence and fighting power by uniting with the rest of the rebel army at Castle Delbray—Lucia’s childhood home. She promised that her twin brother Geoffrey (a Royal Knight) was hiding there with a thousand infantry and another thousand cavalry. After remaining scattered and secret for over two years, the rebels had finally come together, which put them at considerable risk of being discovered.

The Liberation Army needed to unite with them as soon as possible, but the castle was still over a week’s march from Riven Bridge. Although Lucia assured them Daein had no clue the rebel army was sheltered at Delbray, Soren knew it wasn’t that simple. If the Daein escapees at Riven Bridge reported seeing Lucia leading the rebels, it wouldn’t take a genius to investigate her family’s summer mansion.

Whether or not Daein knew where they were headed, they hounded the Liberation Army constantly. But now that the liberation forces numbered six thousand, there was little Daein could do except slow them down until they amassed a second defensive army. Soren knew that would happen sooner rather than later.

He recommended they avoid unnecessary skirmishes so Daein couldn’t acquire information about their units, numbers, and tactics, but Elincia and Lucia glowed with optimism and ordered assaults they were sure to win. Twice they ran into Daein outposts, and each time the confident princess ordered they seize the block forts and free the surrounding villages. Another two times they entered towns to resupply and, when things got out of hand, ended up freeing them from the pressure of the enemy soldiers staying in their boarding houses.

In each of these cases, the civilians were spared casualties, and they applauded Elincia and sang her praises when she trotted through their villages on her dappled mare. Soren knew things would be different if they’d been caught in the crossfire. If they continued like this, it would only be a matter of time until Elincia’s warm smile was replaced by tears again. But he didn’t complain; he didn’t argue. He did his duty and watched for snipers in the upper windows whenever the princess made a public appearance.

The convoy wagons rolled steadily over the wide Crimean roads, and although it was winter, the weather was unseasonably mild. They weren’t locked in by snowstorms, and the impoverished citizens gladly donated whatever food and supplies they could spare. Scouts generally came back alive, the troops were happy, and the Crimean and Begnion forces were getting along. For the first time, the soldiers seemed almost as enamored with Elincia as they were with Ike, and she spent more time among them.

Most of her time, however, was spent with Lucia. Apparently they’d been childhood friends, and they chatted the entire way to Delbray. Whether he wanted to or not, Soren overheard countless nostalgic stories. They often talked about Lucia’s brother Geoffrey and a man named Bastian who was another leader of the Crimean resistance.

Bastian’s was a name Soren was familiar with. He’d been one of Ramon’s senior advisers and, if the rumors were true, his best spymaster.

“In your absence, Princess, we used the cellars beneath the castle as a secret meeting place,” Lucia was explaining, “It is from there that we contacted other retainers who were hiding throughout the land.”

“And no one was discovered?” Ike asked in disbelief.

“We disguised ourselves as merchants or peasants—” Lucia flipped her long hair “—and the Daeins looked right past us. Their arrogance is without equal… However, now that we’ve heard of your return, we are bringing out our hidden armor and polishing away!”

“Merchants?” Elincia giggled. “Geoffrey is one thing, but I cannot imagine Bastian as a shopkeeper.”

“No one could. That’s why he dressed as a street performer.” Lucia nudged Elincia in the side, laughing. Their mirth grated on Soren’s nerves, but he wanted to learn everything he could about the people who would soon be joining the army. He hoped neither Geoffrey nor Bastian would pose a threat to Ike’s position as general.

“Now that I can see! I’m sure it suited him perfectly. Did he juggle and gambol about?”

“And Geoffrey… Never have you seen a merchant with such perfect posture!”

Soren rolled his eyes in frustration. This chatter was useless.

“Princess Elincia seems to be having a wonderful time,” Mist noted quietly. She was walking on the opposite side of Ike, and Soren, Ranulf, and Titania separated them from the nobles. “She’s been smiling and laughing for hours.”

“It seems she and Lucia grew up together. She feels completely at ease around her,” Ranulf added quietly. The group slowed their pace slightly until Elincia and Lucia were out of earshot. Both were completely absorbed in their own conversation and didn’t notice.

“The princess seemed to be of good cheer when she was with us as well, but I suppose she was putting on a brave face,” Ike noted with a touch of sadness (and perhaps jealousy).

That night, the company set up camp for the last time before they would reach Castle Delbray. Everyone was in high spirits. As he had for the past several days, Soren experimented with his new senses by tracking the movement of people throughout the camp.

When he was bored of this practice, he put the finishing touches on his report about the battle at Riven Bridge and delivered it to Ike. The report included an expense record of their recent purchases, a detailed map of Crimea with points of interest marked, and sheets of information he’d drawn up about the newest member of their team—the dracoknight Haar—as well as what he could find out about Lucia and Geoffrey Delbray, Count Bastian Fayre, and the other rebel leaders they had yet to meet. 

Ike’s eyes widened at the amount of work Soren had put into the report and thanked him for it. Then, as always, Ike put the report aside, where it would soon be covered by other papers and miscellaneous supplies. Soren could only smile and shake his head as he left Ike’s tent. He was an inspiring commander, but he was hopeless when it came to details.

A gentle rain was falling the next morning, which made the dismantling of the camp a cold, muddy affair. The drizzle continued as they marched the rest of the way to the castle.

“Once we cross the hills, we’ll be in Delbray territory,” Lucia said, pointing ahead. “Count Bastion went ahead of us, so they should know of your return by now.” A moment later, five figures appeared over the rise, speeding toward the army: three horsemen with two large birds flying overhead. “Speaking of which, here he comes now! I suppose he couldn’t wait any longer and came riding to meet you. How sweet,” Lucia cooed. But a moment later, her smile froze and cracked. She seemed to realize Bastian was riding at break-neck speed with two of Ike’s scouts on either side of him and Janaff and Ulki flying overhead.

“Princess Elincia! Lady Lucia!”

Elincia hadn’t caught onto the air of emergency yet. She picked up her skirts and ran ahead through the rain. “Bastian! There’s no need for you to rush so! I’m coming in your direction anyw-” She finally realized what was going on and backstepped all the way to the comfort of Lucia and the umbrella she was holding.

Bastian and the scouts reined to a halt in front of the company. Janaff and Ulki remained in the air, circling like vultures. The former spymaster was a middle-aged man who’d managed to retain the energy of youth. He had a head of blonde hair pulled back into a curly pony tail at the nape of his neck and a finely trimmed mustache and goatee. He wore a dark green cloak and carried a tome, signifying he was a wind mage. “We’ve been attacked!” he announced breathlessly. “Castle Delbray is surrounded by enemy troops!”

“No!” Elincia gasped. Her happiness these past few days shattered in her eyes.

“It can’t be…” Lucia’s lips were drawn thin, her eyes frightened.

“Geoffrey’s acting as a decoy,” Bastian continued, gripping his horse’s reins and attempting to calm it. The beast’s breath burst from its nostrils in steamy clouds. “You must continue on this road to the southwest.”

Lucia’s demeanor changed visibly. Drawing strength from somewhere within, stretching taller, setting her shoulders, she turned to Elincia. “So the enemy’s found us, eh?” she began confidently. “Nothing to do about it but change course. I’ll lead you to another hiding place.”

Elincia seemed surprised by her friend’s transformation. She looked as if a stranger was before her. “W-what are you saying, Lucia? We must help Geoffrey!” She turned to Bastian, her expression pleading. “Bastian?”

“Luck was not with us, Princess,” Lucia spoke for the man, her voice firm. “We have no choice. We’ll have to abandon our companions in Castle Delbray.” Soren was impressed. She was a military commander after all, not just a lady of the court.

“No!” Elincia clenched her fists and stood tall to match her friend’s posture. “We will not! Geoffrey and the others have survived so much already…” She faltered a moment but set her shoulders again. “I will not abandon them!”

“Princess, please understand.” Lucia turned suddenly earnest—another transformation. She clutched Elincia’s hand and lowered herself to one knee in the mud. “If we could do so without danger to you, we would gladly risk our lives to go back.”

“We cannot do this! Please, Lucia!” She pulled her friend back up to standing. Lucia’s subservient attitude had clearly shaken her. “We must go to the castle! Bastian! You must not do this thing!”

“Geoffrey is a knight. In the name of our friend’s honor, Princess, you must escape,” was Bastian’s response.

“No… No! They’ve survived this long! They’re alive! NO!” Elincia shouted, sounding suddenly imperious. Soren was surprised by this as well. She didn’t sound like a whiny child anymore. She was being adamant, not stubborn.

The princess’s resolve was too much for Lucia, so the swordswoman rounded on Ike instead. “General Ike, we do not have much time. While we stand here squabbling, Daein scouts may spot our position. Please move the army southwest on this road.”

Soren looked at Ike’s face for the first time during this exchange and saw it set in a hard glare. “No,” Ike said sternly.

“Pardon? What did you say?” Lucia was flabbergasted.

“We’re going to the castle,” Ike said, his voice raised so everyone could hear. “If it’s surrounded by Daein troops, we just cut our way though and join the others. Understood?”

Every soldier and mercenary within earshot sent up a cheer, and those too far back cheered anyway.

“Weren’t you listening?” Lucia hissed. “I said we have no choice but to leave them behind! They were lost to us the moment the enemy discovered and surrounded them!” Soren understood where Lucia was coming from, but she clearly didn’t know Ike. Soren did.

“They’re not so lost that we can’t take them back.” Ike’s words were followed by another cheer.

Lucia crossed her arms. “You are the general of Crimea’s army, are you not?” she asked hotly. “Even if only for the moment.” She paused to let than sink in. “I would hope that you would act more in accordance with your responsibilities.”

“I didn’t choose or ask to be general,” Ike growled, “I was put here by matters of time and circumstance. But as a mercenary, I have a contract with Princess Elincia that’s still in effect. That means she’s my employer. And right now, my employer says she wants to go and save the people stuck in that castle. Is that correct, Elincia?” He looked past Lucia at the princess.

Elincia’s hands were firmly clenched at her side. Her shoulders were still rigidly set. “Yes.” She seemed to draw strength from Ike as she stared at him. “I don’t want-” She faltered for the barest moment. “I don’t want anyone else to be sacrificed.”

Now it was Lucia’s turn to look as if she didn’t recognize her friend.

Ike grinned widely. “So we are going to help them. If you’re so worried about the princess,” he addressed Lucia and Bastian, “I’ll leave her here with you, and you can keep her safe.” Without waiting for a reply Ike reached a hand above his head and gestured that the army should resume its march. He clapped a hand gently on Elincia’s arm as he passed.

Only then did she deflate the slightest bit. “My lord Ike…” she whispered with a small, proud smile playing on her lips.

The enemy battalion looked like a sea of glittering back insects. After a year of fighting the Daein Army, Soren knew he should be used to this, but he was always impressed by the number of soldiers Ashnard managed to raise and arm. Daein may not have been a particularly rich nation, but it was clear how they spent their money.

As Ulki and Janaff had reported, the troops laying siege to Delbray numbered just shy of ten thousand. This was the force Daein had amassed to squash the Liberation Army infiltrators. The rebels were just bait. 

“They’re coming into view! Combat formations!” Ike ordered, signaling Titania and the Begnion commanders with both arms. “Our goal is to rescue the knights defending the castle.” In a flurry of movement, the Liberation Army reorganized itself into the platoons Soren had assigned. “Attack!” Ike called. Sword raised, he barreled down the rainswept hillside, straight into the awaiting army.

Daein had already broken down Delbray’s front gate, but they had yet to take the castle. Rebel archers were manning the battlements, and according to the hawks’ reports, the rest of the infantry were holding the garrison. Meanwhile, the extensive cavalry regiment had poured out of the gate, and someone (assumedly Sir Geoffrey) was leading them in field maneuvers to keep the Daein army disorganized and unable to proceed with their siege.

Despite these efforts, the rebels would have been swiftly overrun if not for the Liberation Army. At their appearance, the Daein was forced to concentrate the bulk of their attention on defending their rear. That being said, they had clearly been expecting reinforcements and were ready. A bristling defensive line of pikemen—four men deep and hundreds long—was braced to stop their charge at the bottom of the hill.

But Ike couldn’t be stopped, and the Liberation Army blew through the lines infantry-first to preserve the Begnion and Crimean horses who came behind. When the way was open, the cavalry poured through the Daein ranks with another burst of speed.

Crimean warhorses were considered the best in the world, and facing a Crimean cavalry regiment on an open plain was said to be like watching an unstoppable tornado bearing down on you. But today the Daein Army saw only a shadow of that glory.

The valley between the eastern hills and Delbray Castle was generally wide and flat, but the rain saturated the earth, threatening the horses’ ankles and damning any momentum they managed to build. A stream stretched across the battle from the eastern to western hills, but now the rain swelled it to a dangerous size, submerging the thin layer of ice that had crawled across it since winter had begun. The bridges threatened to be swamped, and those who wandered too close to the banks or accidentally stepped onto the fracturing ice fell in. Freezing water and heavy armor guaranteed drowning. For Daein, Begnion, and Crimean soldiers alike, this was a graceless battle, with too many wounds due to slipping in the mud or not being able to see arrows coming through the rain.

Soren struggled as much as anyone. Try as he might, he couldn’t stifle his Branded sense now that he’d awakened it, so he was determined to use it to his advantage. Having a better awareness of the battlefield gave him insight into where he should move to support struggling comrades. Sometimes he felt as if he were watching the fight with an objective bird’s-eye view. But the cacophony of signals was still overwhelming, and he was liable to lose track of the opponents in front of him, which could be a fatal mistake.

“Get your nose out of that book, Soren!” laughed Mia as she cut down a Daein axman heading straight for his side. “How many times am I going to have to save your skin?”

He should have seen or heard the soldier coming, but he’d had been distracted, following Ike’s dogged movement ahead. Ignoring Mia’s teasing, he tried to retrain his focus on his immediate attackers. He relied on wind and lightning magic, since fire required more effort in such wet environments. This battle promised to be a long one, and he tried to pace himself.

The armies became gridlocked after half an hour, but the fighting wore on. Eventually Lucia, Bastian, and a portion of Elincia’s guard raced down the hill to add their strength to the battle. Bastian proved himself a master wind sage, and Lucia surprised Soren with her prowess with a sword, despite her relatively young age and the fact that he would have assumed her a sheltered noble. However, their support accomplished little, and the battle wore on—freezing, messy, and desperate—for another hour.

Eventually the two armies squeezed onto the field on the far side of the river. Daein was forced to retreat and reassemble. Instead of pushing them, Ike commanded his troops scurry around the Daein forces, where they finally united with the other half of the rebel cavalry.

Morale rose high again, and they reengaged the Daein army. Soren wasn’t able to touch base with Ike to advise a change of tactics, and he was fairly certain Ike hadn’t been able to meet with Geoffrey yet, to discuss how to use their forces together. But (somewhat miraculously) the armies coalesced smoothly.

That being said, their joint efforts were more defensive than offensive, and as such, Daein was forcing them back. They were no longer able to protect the castle. However, the garrison troops seemed to realize this, and they turned the situation into an opportunity. While a limited regiment of archers kept up a facade of defense, the majority of the infantry troops poured around the side of the castle, broadsiding the Daein army.

“Forward!” Ike roared, “Reach them! Protect them!” The thousands of Begnion and Crimean soldiers at his back rushed forward to unite with the thousand who’d just risked their lives to give them a reprieve.

Daein staggered again, retreating slightly and reassembling. The Liberation Army was on better ground now, but there were still so many black-armored soldiers left to fight.

Soren was breathing hard, soaked to the bone, and shivering so badly he could hardly incant. But he continued to unleash spells as steadily as he could manage while also trying to ignored the scent of blood that permeated the battlefield. It seemed his sensitivity to this smell in particular had multiplied tenfold. The cloying, metallic odor churned his stomach like never before, and he swallowed hard to keep down bile.

However, when he dared to dwell on the repulsive scent, he did feel warmer. It livened his own blood and chased the numbness out of his hand and feet. There was a sheen of sweat under the icy rainwater on his skin. He wondered if he was just feverish from the strain, but whatever the case, he supposed it was better than hypothermia.

Eventually the deluge faded into cold, shimmering mist, and both armies slowed. It seemed every soldier was on their last legs, and Soren’s exhausted mind grew fanciful. He imagined this battle ending in a draw as everyone passed out at the same time. The night frost would steal their sleeping breaths, and the war would end with a field of icy corpses on Castle Delbray’s front lawn.

“Wake up,” he hissed to himself, scolding his failing mind.

He was saved further flights of fancy by a sudden and surprising call for retreat. Black horses with grumpy-sounding riders raced through the lines of black-armored soldiers at dizzying speeds, crying that this battle was over. Horns were blown, and the frontlines compressed in on themselves as the Daeins ran for their lives.

The Liberation Army chased them a quarter mile before Ike ordered a halt. Soren watched the Daein horde disappear over the western hills.

“It’s him…” Ike murmured as if deep in thought, and it took Soren a moment to understand who he was referring to.

The Black Knight was standing on the crest of the tallest hill. The sun was low in the sky, shining between shreds of mist and casting his dark silhouette at the same time it glanced off his wet armor, wreathing his head and shoulders in light. Soren wondered if he’d ordered Daein’s retreat, and his sense of victory turned hollow.

Once all the Daein soldiers were lost from view, the Black Knight finally turned and walked away. “Shall we go after him?” Titania asked through gritted teeth.

“No.” Ike tore his eyes away from the spot. “Send a squadron to retrieve the princess and the convoy. We rest here for the night. I must meet with the leader of the Crimean Rebel Army.”

“That would be me,” announced a man with bright blue hair and lime-green armor. Lucia was lending him a shoulder, but now he took his weight off her and stepped forward. One hand held a gash in his side just under his breastplate while the other held his horse’s reins. “Captain Geoffrey of the Royal Knights, at your service.” He gave a wince of a bow despite his wound.

Ike nodded grimly. “Let’s get everyone inside.” He gestured for the knight to walk beside him, and the exhausted army made way. Soren followed them to the castle, past the gate Daein had battered down, and into the main courtyard. The rest of the army filed in behind.

The smell of death was much weaker here, and Soren finally began to relax. But he couldn’t rest yet. While Ike was meeting with Geoffrey, his officers made themselves busy. Titania dispatched Lucia with a team to retrieve Elincia, after which she arranged scouts to secure a perimeter of ten miles in every direction. Two of Ike’s Begnion lieutenants had died, so the other three were dividing and sharing the orphaned platoons until new leadership could be appointed. And Tanith was going around getting accurate casualty reports. That left Soren and Bastian the task of getting an infirmary established, the troops billeted, the gate repaired, supplies distributed, guard shifts assigned, and so on. The spymaster was a capable leader, which was a relief to Soren who didn’t want to shoulder such authority on his own.

As he worked, Soren overheard whispers among the weary, shivering troops. They wanted to know the significance of the man on the hill. Those who’d been with the army long enough to have heard the story of the man who killed General Ike’s father were eager to retell it. Rumors about the Black Knight ran rampant.

When Soren saw Rolf at the end of a corridor, he noticed the boy was chewing his lip nervously while staring out the window.

Later he passed Boyd in the main hall. He hadn’t removed any of his armor, and he kept drawing and stowing his axes as if he didn’t realize the fight was over.

Oscar was helping board the army’s numerous horses in the stables behind the castle, and when Soren checked in on their progress, he noticed the man’s gaze was stuck on the floor. He appeared lost in though and unable to meet anyone’s eye.

When Soren gave Ike a brief update later, he found Shinon staring at the commander through a crack in the door. He huffed and disappeared when caught.

Shortly after, Soren found Gatrie and Mia sitting at a table in the mess hall saying nothing. They were fortunate to have bowls of hot gruel in front of them, but neither was eating.

When he visited the infirmary for a most recent casualty report, he found Rhys looking uncharacteristically distracted from his work. As for Mist, she was positively jumpy and squeaked in surprise when Soren asked her about the survival of the injured troops.

“How’s Ike?” she asked. “Has he said anything about the Black Knight?”

“Not to me,” Soren replied briskly before getting the conversation back on track. But he couldn’t pretend he didn’t understand her concern. They were all worried about Ike and what he would do with the Black Knight so close.

Titania was the worst, however, because instead of appearing morose or anxious, she was cheerful after the hard-won victory. Soren knew this was an act, but her forced enthusiasm and bountiful congratulations invigorated the troops. Whatever room she entered suddenly buzzed with activity as idle hands found ways to be useful.

When they returned, Lucia escorted Elincia to the basement briefing room to join Ike and Geoffrey. Later that evening, she, Geoffrey, Bastian, and the rest of the Crimean troops assembled in the ballroom to acknowledge Elincia as the rightful ruler of Crimea and vow loyalty onto death. The princess accepted their fealty with poise.

Fortunately the ceremony wasn’t long. Although Soren had finally been able to eat something and change into dry robes by this point, he still hadn’t had any rest. Attending this little Crimean party felt like an intolerable waste of time.

Hours passed before he had a chance to speak with Ike privately. His face was grim but determined, and Soren had a feeling the Black Knight was on his mind. After handing him a written report, he expounded for a few minutes on the outcome of the battle, the state of preparations, and his assessment of the new troops. “I suggest we shelter here for a couple days while we scout the region,” he concluded, “The troops need time to recover. However, every day we linger increases the likelihood of Daein attempting siege again, and this castle was not built to withstand a major assault.”

“Fine. We’ll keep moving then,” Ike replied without looking at him. His tone was flat. “Thanks for the report. You can get some rest now.”

Soren didn’t appreciate being dismissed, and he didn’t leave.

“Unless there’s something else.” He didn’t sound particularly concerned.

“You are not such an idiot that you would go looking for the Black Knight, are you?”

Ike finally met his eyes and frowned. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Ike!” Soren fought the frustration rising in him. “Too much rides on your shoulders. You can’t throw your life away for nonsensical revenge.”

“I don’t expect you to understand, Soren,” he sighed. “Go get some rest. You’re tired.”

“I could say the same for you,” he hissed back. “Greil was at least awake when he fought the Black Knight. What can you accomplish half-dead, aside from getting yourself killed twice as quickly?”

“Watch it,” Ike warned.

Soren’s rant died on his lips. There were so many things he wanted to say. His tongue bristled with jabs he hoped would hurt Ike’s pride enough to keep him here tonight. But he couldn’t bring himself to voice them.

“I will do what I deem right as general of this army,” Ike finally said, filling the silence. “If you trust me, then that’s all you need to know.”

Soren eyed him carefully. “I trust you,” he whispered before departing.

Going to his quarters, Soren set himself by the window and refused to fall asleep. He’d chosen a room on the top floor with a view of the front gate and the field beyond. It was a small, dusty study, not an actual bedroom, but unrolling a bedroll on the floor made it one.

He waited while the castle tucked itself in for the night and became dark and quiet. The only movement was the guards on the wall, the sentries by the makeshift gate, and their fluttering torches. Soren’s head felt heavy on his shoulders, and his eyelids threatened to fall. But he would stay awake all night if it meant ascertaining Ike was safe.

But then he appeared, leading a horse and carrying a lantern—not safe at all. Although he was swamped by a large cloak, Soren could tell he was wearing his sword and armor underneath. The guards snapped to attention. Ike spoke to them, and they opened the gate just enough for him to slip through. Before Soren’s eyes, Ike mounted his chosen steed and loped across the battlefield toward the western hills.

Although he’d suspected Ike’s intentions, he was still shocked to see the yellow dot of his lantern grow smaller and farther away. He wondered if he should alert Titania, suddenly thinking that, if he’d woken her earlier back then, perhaps Greil could have been saved. He wondered if he should wake the entire castle. If all seven thousand soldiers poured into the night in their naught but bedclothes, perhaps they could rescue their general from certain doom. 

But Soren remained fixed to the spot long after Ike’s light had disappeared. He recalled Ike’s words, and he truly wanted to trust him. He wanted to believe Ike knew what he was doing and that he was strong and wise enough to face whatever he found over those hills.

Soren still hadn’t decided what he was going to do by the time Ike’s lantern reappeared a quarter hour later. The sight of him atop his horse, trotting over a field of corpses in the moonlight, brought stinging tears of relief to his eyes. His paralysis broke, and his joy was chased away by anger.

Slamming the door to the study, he flew down the many flights of stairs to meet his wayward commander in the main hall. Candles had been lit sparingly, and Soren waited in the shadows, leaning against a pillar. His hands were trembling, so he clenched them.

Ike soon appeared, with sagging shoulders and dragging feet. Even in the poor lighting Soren could see his split lip, bloody nose, and bruised face. He carried himself slow and tenderly, as if he didn’t expect anyone to be watching him and so didn’t care if he looked like a wreck.

“How was your tryst?” Soren asked, startling him.

“Shit, Soren!”

“Everything you hoped it would be?

Ike winced while he rolled his shoulder. The jump seemed to have aggravated a sprain. “You should be in bed…”

“Is that the Black Knight’s gauntlet I see imprinted in your cheek?” Soren took a step closer in mock examination.

Ike sighed. “I fought him, but my attacks had no effect at all. I think his armor is enchanted.”

“Like Petrine’s?” he asked dryly. After Riven Bridge, he’d attempted to warn him that all Four Riders would be similarly protected.

“No, this is some kind of older, deeper magic.” Ike shook his head. “I couldn’t make a scratch. I mean, not even a _scratch_.”

Soren’s hands started to shake again at the thought of how close he’d been to losing him. “Why did he let you go?” he asked, balling his fists and masking his voice. 

“I… I guess he didn’t want to fight me as I am now, so he roughed me up to make a point… But I have an idea how I can defeat him next time.”

“Next time?” Soren repeated incredulously. “Can you have really learned nothing from-”

“Go to bed, Soren,” Ike cut him off, scowling. He tried to push past, but Soren refused.

He placed him in front of his friend again, but this time he willed himself to be calm and patient. He raised his palms. “You said you had an idea… I have a penchant for ideas. Good ones at least. Tell me yours.”

Ike was still frowning, but he looked less angry. After hesitating a moment, he gave in. “…It’s a sword.”

“Your idea is a sword?” Soren raised an eyebrow. “Why am I not surprised...”

“I’ll show you,” Ike growled, taking him by the arm. He dragging him out of the main hall and down the corridor that led to his room.

When they reached it, Soren was oddly surprised to see it was small and simple—a servant’s room. He must have chosen it over the suites on the upper floors for its central location. Closing the door behind them, Ike lit a lantern and dragged something from under the bed.

“Is this the sword that is going to solve all your Black-Knight-related problems?” Soren asked, unable to keep the spite from his voice. He was still mad at him for riding off to get himself killed tonight.

Ike unwrapped the hefty blade and laid it on the bed. Now that it gleamed in the lanternlight, Soren recognized it instantly. This was Greil’s sword: the one that had propped up Elena’s body like a scarecrow’s stick. He wondered if Ike knew this mottled steel had once been wet with his mother’s blood.

He was staring at it with his brow furrowed. “The Black Knight gave it to my father that night in Gallia, but he refused to fight with it. I think it was his once … So I took it.”

“You’ve kept it this whole time?” Soren managed to ask.

“I’ve been keeping it in Aimee’s wagon when we’re on the road,” Ike explained. “If Father didn’t want to use it, then I didn’t want to… But tonight, the Black Knight said something strange. I think he wants me to fight him with it. I think it might be the only thing that can break the enchantment on his armor.”

“It’s possible…” Soren murmured, eyeing the ancient runes on the base of the blade. “It is called Ragnell,” he read aloud for Ike’s benefit. “I am no expert, but it appears quite old and yet well preserved. It may even be enchanted itself.”

Ike nodded to say he’d guessed the same. “So a sword’s not a bad idea, is it?”

Soren felt his frustration finally ebbing. “In this case, it just might work,” he conceded. “But it was still foolish to engage the Black Knight tonight.”

Ike frowned petulantly. “Consider it reconnaissance,” he grumbled. “We know about his armor and this sword now.”

Soren shook his head but made no reply. He knew he couldn’t convince Ike he’d done anything wrong. “I’m going to bed,” he announced, heading for the door. Ike didn’t call him back or make more excuses. Now that he was safe, Soren could finally sleep.


	12. CHAPTER 43: THE MAD KING'S WAR

Soon after their victory at Delbray, a covert messenger from Gallia brought Ike and Ranulf some good news: King Caineghis and an army of five thousand laguz soldiers had crossed into Crimea and would unite with the Liberation Army in the Marhaut Range. These mountains cut across southeastern Crimea and were a perfect place for the Gallians to hide while remaining mobile.

The Crimea Liberation Army cut a path south, and along the way, they continued to purge occasional villages and outposts of their Daein occupants. But they couldn’t spare or protect the majority of the civilians, who were being used, abused, and displaced worse than they had for months under Daein’s regime. The Liberation Army’s presence had reignited the war; casualties were unavoidable.

When they finally arrived at the Marhauts, Soren was not entirely surprised to find a large refugee camp established on a plateau at the base of the mountains. Thousands of sick, injured, and destitute Crimeans bustled to stave off death and starvation in the shadow of the mountain. Some of these people had been ousted from their homes by Daein troops. Others were fleeing the increasingly large bands of Daein marauders, many of whom who would take lives for sport at the same time they appropriated their meager food stores, leaving families to die anyway.

Ike commanded the Liberation Army set up camp alongside the refugees and lend aid, although they didn’t have food to spare. There could be spies or assassins planted among the Crimeans, so Soren advised caution. But Ike ignored his warnings. He ended up meeting with the Crimean refugees personally and bandaging their wounds himself. Soren could tell he was exhausted from the nonstop marching and battling, and yet he continued to exert his energy on useless things like this.

“A Daein army moved into the mountains a few days ago,” he announced angrily when Soren found him at the heart of the tent city. “Refugees from the surrounding villages fled there when Daein burned their homes. But now they’ve been ousted from the mountains as well!” He shook his head and gritted his teeth. “Will Daein ever stop?”

“It is likely they knew of our approach,” Soren reasoned, “or knew the Gallians are hiding somewhere in the cliffs. That is why they did this. They will be ready for us.”

Just then, a young boy with a broken arm and a smudged face walked up to tug Ike’s cape. “Mister! ‘Scuse me, mister!” he said politely. Ike turned to him in surprise. “Are you guys gonna go into the mountains? There are lots of soldiers wearing black up there. Those guys…” The boy sniffed. “They killed my poppa and burned our village. That’s why we went to the mountains in the first place. You’re gonna go up there and take care of ‘em aren’t you? Gonna make ‘em pay? Please, mister, say that you are! My momma and my sister and me don’t have anywhere else to go, and I wanna go back to the cabin my poppa built.”

Ike knelt and gripped the boy’s shoulders gently. “I understand. We’re going to take care of those guys. You just stay here a bit longer, alright?”

The little boy threw his good arm around Ike’s neck and snuggled in for a tight hug. “Go give ‘em heck, mister!” he said when he finally released. Ike’s face twitched into a grin. The boy started walking away, but then he stopped and turned. “Oh, wait! I heard those guys talking about something too! They said if anyone comes up the mountain single file, they’d get ‘em all at once. It was something like that anyway.”

“Really?” Ike glanced at Soren and nodded. “That’s a lot of help. Thanks.”

“Good luck, mister! Kill ‘em all! Do it for my poppa!” he waved cheerily and ran off.

When he was out of sight, Ike turned to Soren. He seemed even more exhausted than before, but there was also fire in his eyes. “So that’s their ambush? Something having to do with us hiking up there single file?”

Soren nodded slowly. “It would be efficient for them, but I can’t predict what their plan will be. Merely archers, or perhaps they managed to get ballistae up there? Oil and fire are reliable if they can disperse it effectively. Boulders are a possibility, or perhaps sand traps if they seek to impede our ability to climb. Depending on the terrain, they may be able to trigger an avalanche or landslide easily enough.”

Ike was staring at him incredulously. “You have an impressive imagination for ways we might die…”

“That is my job, isn’t it?” Soren shrugged. “At any rate, I will confer with our actual scouts. Not that the story of a small child isn’t valuable intelligence.” 

Ike laughed. “Well, I will see you later. I promised Elincia I would meet with Bastian before long.”

“Be careful around that man,” Soren warned.

“Oh, stop being paranoid, Soren. He may be… _odd._ But he’s harmless, and he is one of Elincia’s closest friends.”

“He was a spy for the late king. Don’t forget that.”

“ _Alleged_ spy,” Ike corrected.

Soren frowned.

“Alright, alright,” Ike conceded before yawning widely.

“And get some sleep,” he added sharply.

“Alright, sheesh.” Ike gestured in even more adamant concession. “Later.” He staggered off to the army’s encampment, where Bastian was no doubt waiting.

Soren was relieved to hear Ike managed to nap after tea with Bastian, but a soldier was forced to wake and retrieve him when a massive, boisterous man entered their campsite around dusk, shouting about wanting to speak with the general.

Soren ran out of the strategy tent to help hold the man back, while trying to understand how he’d blown past all the guards. However, there wasn’t much Soren could do except threaten him along with everyone else, and he was certainly not the most threatening. The intruder hardly even looked at him.

Luckily Ike soon appeared, and the growing crowd parted to let him meet the interloper. “Hey there, little man!” he said when he set eyes on Ike. “I’ve got serious business with the general of this army. Take a message, will ya?”

Titania looked personally insulted and opened her mouth to correct him, but Ike gestured that she should remain silent. “And you would be…?” he asked, glaring.

Although he was beorc, this newcomer equaled Mordecai in size. He wore nothing but a pair of trousers, a small fur cape, and some rough-looking iron pauldrons, and his lack of clothing was striking considering it was still winter. He had an enormous battleax slung across his back, which Titania and the others were eyeing cautiously. However, even Soren had to admit he didn’t appear violent (or cold). He hadn’t drawn his weapon or touched a single member of the crowd corralling him.

“The name’s Largo, and I’m a world-class berserker!”

“World-class berserker,” Ike repeated. “That’s a rather dubious title.”

“What’s this?” Largo exclaimed. “You doubting my strength? I can pin a tiger with my bare hands! That’s not just hot air either!”

Tormod, who was standing nearby, snorted in disbelief.

“Dubious,” Ike repeated, glancing at Soren. He just nodded in agreement.

“You think I’m lying? Have your general hire me and then see for yourself! You can decide how much I’m worth after you see me in action.” He folded his arms across his bare chest. “But let me tell you, if the gold’s not good enough, _pffft!”_ He raised his hand off his arm in a careless gesture. “I’m gone!”

“Huh?” Ike glanced at the ground and seemed to smile inwardly. “All of this sounds vaguely familiar…” he said, perhaps thinking of when Calill had joined them. “But at least you’re confident.”

“Like I said: world-class berserker,” Largo repeated proudly. “Here, watch me bend this lance.” He grabbed a steel lance away from Marica, before she could react. Then he growled deeply as he tried and failed to bend the shaft.

Ike raised a hand to stop him. “Alright, you’re in.”

“Yes!” Largo grinned and handed the lance back to Marcia. “So, uh, how about taking me to meet the general?”

“I’m the general.”

“ _Wah_?” the large man’s eyes bulged. Then he broke into riotous laughter. “That’s good! You’re a funny little guy! So seriously, where’s the general’s tent? Must be that big one there.”

Largo started off in the direction of the strategy tent, but before he could take more than a couple steps, Calill emerged from the crowd and stood in front of him. Her face was absolutely beaming. “Largo?”

“Hey! I thought I’d find you here, Cal!” He immediately scooped her up and swung her around. “You’re looking _hot!_ ” When he put her down, he slapped her butt, adding, “Almost as hot as me!”

Calill slapped his chest playfully, clearly embarrassed yet still happy. “Did you come looking for little old me?” she teased. “Oh, how sad for you. My contract with this army isn’t up for quite some time.” She sidled around Largo toward Ike.

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.” Largo winked. “That’s why I’m joining up, too!”

“What?” Calill laughed. “Are you really going to hire Largo, General Ike?”

“That’s the plan,” Ike replied. A large crowd had gathered by now, and everyone was trying to hold in their laughter.

“Huh? This little guy really is the general?” Largo seemed to size Ike up again. But then he just broke out laughing and tapped himself in the side of the head. “I look like the _biggest_ fool around? And I mean _big!_ ” He growled again and began flexing his muscles. Everyone was laughing aloud now. “Sorry if I offended you, little guy!” Large said, offering his hand.

Ike shook it but corrected him: “It’s ‘General’.”

“ _Oh_ …” Calill smiled and slapped Largo in the side again. “He’s such a clown. But you made a good hire. After all, he’s a world-class-”

“Berserker. Yeah, I heard.”

“He pinned a tiger with his bare hands!” Calill exclaimed. When no one seemed impressed, she added, “Two of them, actually. At the same time.”

Largo guffawed, bending to hold a cramp in his side. “Yeah, that was awesome!”

“Definitely dubious,” Ike sighed with a shake is his head.

“Just what our company needed,” Soren agreed sarcastically. He decided to save his speech about being cautious around strangers and suspecting every new recruit of being a spy. He was just glad Ike was smiling. It looked like a weight had rolled off his shoulders.

Largo and Calill retreated to speak more privately, and Ike gathered Soren, Ranulf, Titania, Lucia, Geoffrey, and Bastian for a meeting in the strategy tent. Calling his senior officers together doubled as a signal for everyone else to return to their regular duties or go back to their cots. The show was over.

“Beorc really come in all shapes and sizes, don’t they?” Ranulf observed as they walked toward the tent.

“Indeed we do,” Titania agreed. “Sometime even I am still surprised.”

“Large as he may be, he had no grounds to insult Ike’s stature,” Soren argued. In fact, he had grown a lot since this war had started.

“I am no Greil or Black Knight though,” Ike replied without turning around. “That’s no secret.”

Soren thought about pointing out his own diminutive stature, to assert that brains were more important than brawn, but he didn’t. Calling attention to his slow aging was out of the question. Instead they walked the rest of the way to the tent in silence and sat down for their meeting.

“Ranulf!” Ike began, holding open a map of the region. “Whereabouts is the Gallian army encampment?”

“Just over those mountains,” Ranulf pointed to the place on the map and then gestured in the direction of the mountains themselves. They were close.

“So we’re finally going to join forces…” Ike smiled.

Ranulf mirrored his relieved expression. “Reports say that King Ashnard is gathering his forces in the capital. The time to work together is certainly upon us.”

“Ike,” Soren reminded, “there’s an enemy ambush waiting for us on that mountain.”

“Mmm…” Ike hummed. “If we go around and avoid it, how much time will we lose?”

“A couple of days, at least,” Soren answered promptly.

“In that case, we’ve no choice but to go through them, right?” Ike concluded cheerfully.

“Agreed.” Soren had served as his tactician long enough to expect this response. There was no use trying to change his mind, not after he’d spent all day comforting the victims of these particular Daeins.

Ranulf, however, wasn’t accustomed to Ike’s decision-making process. “Um, wait a second… Isn’t this where there’s usually some sort of discussion? Hello?” He waved his hand in front of Ike’s face as if he might be sleeping.

“Sorry, Ranulf,” Titania explained, while Ike pushed his hand away. “That is not really the way we operate.”

“We should send in a small force and leave the majority here with the refugees, the convoy, and the princess.” Soren turned to Ike. “Seeing as we don’t know what we are getting into, we should bring only our best, most adaptable fighters.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Ike said with a nod.

Ranulf was still baffled. “Is this common for you? Walking into traps knowingly and just hoping for the best?”

Soren considering their sieges of Tor Garen, Talrega, and Nevassa. “Yes,” came his, Ike’s, and Titania’s replies all at once.

After a moment stunned silence, Ranulf smiled. “Count me in then!”

Ike’s specialized regiment marched out the next morning. Titania and her cavalry scouts rode ahead, with Tanith leading the army’s aerial units above. They would secure the foot of the mountain and assess the enemy’s defense. The rest of the army followed more slowly. Ike brought a coalition of sure-footed beast laguz, lightly-armored soldiers, and of course, his versatile mercenaries.

“Commander,” Titania reported when they arrived, “the foes are encamped on top of the rise.” She pointed to where the slope disappeared into the icy clouds. “And you’ll want to see the trap they have this time…”

Soren raised a spyglass to the cliffside. A single, winding trail led to the top. It was riddled with switchbacks to make the climb accessible to horses and carts, but Titania and the others would be leaving their steeds here. Everyone fighting their way up would need to be able to venture off-trail as necessary to stay alive, especially considering the oddly prominent rocks perched on some of the ledges.

Ike observed the same thing through his own glass. “Those boulders didn’t get up there all by themselves…” he said. “Are they seriously going to roll them down on us?”

Soren nodded. “At first glance, it seems a simplistic trap, but those narrow paths will make it difficult to avoid them. I think they may be surprisingly effective.”

“So-” Ike began.

“‘We run up the mountain as quickly as possible and smash the enemy commander!’—right?” Ranulf said in a rather convincing impression of Ike’s voice.

“Right…” Ike said, taken aback, “How did you-”

“I know,” Ranulf laughed, gesturing at himself, “ _genius_.”

“Actually that is the best plan,” Soren interrupted. “Try to avoid the boulders and reach the top as quickly as possible. Once there, defeat the leader.”

The others nodded their agreement (or perhaps their resigned acceptance—it was hard to tell which).

“Right,” Ike said, raising his hand above his head and signaling the unit. “Move out!”

Daein waited until the Liberation troops couldn’t easily retreat before activating their traps. Some boulders were the size of human heads, but others were the size of a full-grown man. Once the big ones picked up speed, they were liable to hit a bump and explode into smaller pieces that came flying down the trail just as fast and deadly.

Everyone listened for shouts indicating incoming boulders and threw themselves into the woods on either side. However, sometimes there wasn’t enough time to escape, and sometimes the rocks came from above instead of ahead. Although the sound of cracking, ripping trees was ample warning, it was much harder to predict the trajectory of these boulders, and the scraggly cliffside flora did little to slow them down.

Anticipating this as a potential Daein tactic, Soren had advised everyone bring large wooden pavises, which had been reinforced and fitted with iron stakes on the bottom. They were heavier and more unwieldly now, but if their owners acted quickly enough, they could be stuck in the ground and pivoted at the moment of collision. The shields absorbed some of the impact and slightly altered the direction of the boulders. As Soren watched them used in battle, he was relieved to see some lives saved.

Finding evasion and shielding insufficient, some mercenaries abandoned the trail entirely. They clearly assumed it would be easier to charge straight up. But the terrain was treacherous. Ice slicked the ground, tree roots pulled easily from the shifting earth, and sometimes the rockface was just too sheer to climb.

People came tumbling down in cascades of dirt, shale, and snow as often as Daein’s boulders. Concussions, crushed limbs, and ruptured organs were inevitable. Despite the need to reach the top as quickly as possible, extra time was spent pulling unconscious comrades out the scree. Soren found himself thinking this wasn’t a battle at all, but a game of survival.

The aerial units tried to help by targeting the soldiers manning the traps, but they were always guarded by phalanxes of archers who made it difficult for the pegasi, wyverns, and laguz to get close. 

Whenever a relatively safe outcropping was discovered, the regiment’s healers took shelter there. They saved the lives of the mercenaries and soldiers brought to them, and when another shielded hollow was found, word was sent to move the triage unit farther up.

When they finally neared the bulk of the enemy battalion, they encountered new threats. Apparently Daein had managed to drag two stone ballistae and one arrow ballista up here, because they barraged the climbing troops with avalanches of rock and threatened to knock the aerial units out of the sky with well-aimed bolts. To make matters worse, they were equipped with a dozen feral laguz. Once released from their cages or freed from their bonds, the mindless cats and tigers tore down the mountain looking for something to kill. They were heedless of danger as they barreled down the slope, and being struck by one guaranteed a long, bouncing fall.

The ground plateaued ahead, and Soren could see the ballistae and remaining boulder traps now. Although they were not yet at the summit, but they were just below the cloud line. Soren could only assume the enemy force had deployed here for ease of maneuvering as well as visibility.

It was now that the Daein commander finally joined the fray. He was a dracoknight, and the jaws of his wyvern were as much a threat as the arcane bolt-axe he wielded. “So you’ve made it this far, have you?” he greeted the first mercenaries coming over the edge. “Then prepare to be sent down screaming!”

On unspoken agreement, Soren and Ike worked together to engage him. Soren’s Wind spells forced him to fly lower, within range of Ike’s sword, and his experience with magic helped him predict where the bolts would form. He pushed Ike away from strikes that might have electrocuted him but which left Soren relatively unharmed. As a wind mage, he was most resistant to thunder magic, and the lightning summoned by the enchanted axe was weaker than a regular Thunder spell. Although the jittering vibrations were far from pleasant, they were certainly survivable.

He and Ike were finally making some progress against the dracoknight, when a beam of white light fell from the sky that was far more powerful than his lightning. The pair barely managed to move away in time, and a tree where they’d been standing became a charred husk.

“That’s light magic!” Soren warned, looking for the perpetrator. He swiftly located a bishop far behind the dracoknight, who seemed to be holding a light tome. He had to assume the spells contained within were Purge, a long-distance light spell.

“Watch out!” Ike warned, and he pulled Soren away from the sweep of the dracoknight’s axe. He felt static jump from it to his scalp, shivering down his entire body. “First thing’s first.”

Soren nodded and decided to use a combination of Elwind and Elthunder to take down the commander more quickly. For now, he and Ike would just have watch for any strange glowing and hope they could avoid the Purge attacks before they melted the skin from their bones.

Fortunately he wasn’t the only one to notice the adept bishop, because Ranulf darted forward to distract him. Apparently the cat’s vulnerability to light and fire magic was too tempting for the mage to ignore. He relentlessly targeted Ranulf, who managed to keep the beams of light away from Ike and Soren while avoiding death himself.

The dracoknight’s wyvern was dead now, and Ike was trading blows with him on one side, while Soren attacked with wind on the other. The commander was managing to fend off both opponents for now, but Soren knew he couldn’t be able to hold out much longer.

When Ike seemed to be managing on his own, Soren tore his eyes away to check the status of the battle. Rolf and Shinon had each climbed a tree and were eliminating Daeins from above. Ranulf chased the bishop within their range, and Rolf’s arrow ended the man’s life.

By the time Soren turned back to Ike’s fight with the commander, he had just hacked off his arm. A moment later, he sliced across the back of the man’s neck. The body fell to the ground beside the dead wyvern, and Ike wasted no time charging off, announcing that the commander was dead and the Daein troops should surrender.

However, they did not. The clouds were descending from the higher cliffs, and as mist curled in around the plateau, the soldiers and mercenaries routed the remaining Daeins. Soren looked around and saw the ground was well-worn by Daein boots. Many trees had been cut down, and a camp of tents and lean-tos had been erected against the cliffside.

He joined the efforts to root out hiding Daeins by toppling the canvas and wooden shelters. Large, blunted wind spells bowled them over, revealed they were empty. A strange feeling nagged at the back of his mind. Considering the size of the enemy encampment, it seemed there should have been more troops here, at least three dozen more. Shaking his head, he asked himself where he’d gotten that number and wondered if he’d been struck by lightning one too many times by that dracoknight.

But then reinforcements did arrive, exploding out of the trees on either side. Soren was taken by surprise, but Ike quickly rallied his troops and handled them. The ambush was a failure. The Daein commander hadn’t set enough troops aside, and soon every last one was slaughtered. There had been about thirty, and Soren realized he’d sensed them without realizing it. Now he was certain his head was foggy.

He decided to report to Ike’s side, where he might be of use. Tanith and Reyson were already here, and Ranulf limped up a moment later. He was clutching a deep laceration in his arm and a bruise was swelling on his face, but he was smiling.

“Is this the lot of them?” Ike eyed the corpses suspiciously.

“I thought there might be more...” Ranulf glanced around, but the mist was growing thicker. Soren wondered what he could sense, if anything.

Just then, a winged shadow emerged from the gloom, and Marcia landed beside them. Elincia was sitting in front of her. The princess dismounted gracefully and approached. “Oh, I’m glad to see you’re well. I just wanted to-”

She was cut off by a voice shouting down from some cliff above their heads: “Now we’ve got you! Eat rock!” This was accompanied by a chorus of creaking wooden boards, which Soren had learned meant the release of boulder traps—a lot of them.

Elincia screamed, and Ike lunged to cover her. “Above us! Look out!” he called.

Soren’s body felt riveted in place. The voice hadn’t come from far away, and yet he hadn’t sensed the presence of any beorc—or anyone for that matter. Having become accustomed to his Branded sense since Riven Bridge, he’d started taking it for granted. However, he didn’t think this was his failing alone, because Reyson and Ranulf looked just as dumbfounded.

These were the thoughts and observations that ran through Soren’s mind in the split second before the boulders would fall. But they did not. Instead of rocks, a cascade of screams crashed down on them. When it ended, there was no creaking or any other sound.

By now Ike and Marcia had thrown Elincia onto the pegasus’s saddle, but she didn’t take off. Neither had Reyson leapt into the sky, although his wings were stretched. They all remained frozen, staring up into the impenetrable cloud.

Then another winged shadow materialized, but it was a hawk, not a pegasus, this time. Soren recognized the light plumage on the eagle’s head and wingtips, and his suspicions were confirmed when he landed and transformed. “I thought you might need a hand,” was King Tibarn’s greeting. His face, legs, and feet were awash with fresh blood, but it clearly wasn’t his own.

“Tibarn! You came!” Reyson rushed over with an excited flap of his wings and couple long, graceful strides.

“Well met, Reyson,” Tibarn said with a smile. After assessing him from head to toe, he wrapped the heron in a relieved hug. To Soren’s surprise, Reyson didn’t push him away. Then Tibarn turned to Ike: “And well met to the rest of you, warriors of Crimea!” By now most of the mercenaries had gathered to see what the fuss was about.

“Nice to see you too, but why are you here?” Ike asked incredulously.

“I thought I’d help you wipe out Daein.” The king put his hands on his hips, and at his words, dozens of hawks appeared in the fog. They landed either behind their king or in the nearby cliffs and trees. Some reverted to their human bodies, while others remained in bird-form. Despite the fog (which appeared to be dissipating), Soren estimated Tibarn had brought five hundred Phoenician soldiers.

“That’s good news for us, but has something happened? Why did you suddenly decide to help?” Ike pushed. This caused Tibarn’s bravado to fade slightly. His hands slid from his hips to hang by his sides.

“I asked for his aid,” Reyson explained, turning to Ike. “We must defeat King Daein. To that end, the more powerful we are, the better. Yes?”

“So that’s the story, is it?” The doubt in Ike’s voice echoed Soren’s own mind. A letter from Reyson didn’t seem like quite enough for entire nation to join a war they had no place in and wouldn’t benefit from.

Tibarn shook his head. “It’s true that Reyson requested my aid. However, that’s not the only reason I’m here.”

Reyson turned to Tibarn, surprised and cautious, as if bad news were about to slide out of his mouth like a snake. “What is it?”

Tibarn held up a hand and shook his head again. “In a moment. First, let us meet with the King of Lions. He waits for us deeper in the mountains, and frankly we should get off of this peak.” He jerked his thumb up at the hidden cliff where the boulders were still perched. “Daein was burning something strange up there.”

Ranulf frowned. “I didn’t smell anything burning.”

“You didn’t smell the beorc either, right?”

Ranulf didn’t reply, but he looked a little sick.

“Understood.” Ike clapped his hands together. “I want a team to investigate the higher cliffs! Ranulf, why don’t you lead it? In the meantime, Marcia, get Princess Elincia to safety. Sorry we couldn’t talk.”

Elincia just shook her head. “I came too soon. I’m sorry.” Since she was already astride the pegasus, Marcia mounted behind her.

Ike continued giving orders: “Tanith, take a team and scout ahead.”

“You can borrow some of my hawks,” Tibarn volunteered, and she saluted rigidly.

“Titania contact your men below and have the rest of the army move out.” He then raised his voice for the whole regiment to hear: “Come on, everyone! We can take a rest at the bottom!”

The cheer that followed his words was weak but earnest. The tired, wobbly regiment started to move. Most walked toward the trail leading through the trees and down the other side of the mountain, but others made their way to the tiny infirmary Mist and Rhys had formed since the battle ended. 

Tibarn reached out the toe of his boot to nudge the spur around Reyson’s left ankle, which seemed to startle the prince. He raised a questioning eyebrow. “You been fighting?”

Reyson crossed his arms aloofly. “Self-defense. This is a war, after all.”

“So it is,” Tibarn sighed.

Soren walked away from the hawk army to join Ranulf’s team.

They found some sort of liquid incense on the cliff, and Soren took a sample although he knew it would be a long time until the Liberation Army could consult a specialist and have it examined. In the meantime, he would assume Daein had developed a concoction that temporarily impaired a laguz’s senses when breathed in—no doubt a weapon to be used against Gallia during their invasion. They would have to be more careful from now on. 

The terrain descended again, and the trail brought them to a glade where hot water bubbled from the earth and trickled in steaming streams. The regiment bathed and rested here before moving on. The bulk of the army was still coming behind them, but Tibarn and Ike seemed anxious to unite with Caineghis.

When they finally arrived, they found large, round Gallian tents sprawling all over a sheltered ravine. The place bustled with hundreds of cat, tiger, and even lion soldiers, many of whom stared at the arriving mercenaries with interest.

Elincia was spirited away to meet Caineghis, while Ike and the rest started making plans to set up camp beside the Gallian encampment. But Tibarn wouldn’t allow it, dragging Ike and Titania away and telling them to have someone else take care of preparations. “We need to talk,” he said seriously.

Ike agreed but wouldn’t go without Soren and Mist. The Hawk King also collected Ranulf, Lethe, and Mordecai; Lucia, Geoffrey, and Bastian; Janaff, Ulki, and Reyson; and finally Tanith as representatives of Gallia, Crimea, the bird tribes, and Begnion respectively. He ushered everyone into a pavilion with no explanation. “Wait here,” he ordered.

“I wonder what’s going on,” Titania whispered. Since the pavilion had been furnished with plenty of chairs, benches, and floor cushions, everyone found a place to sit. A low, round table was placed in front of the central pole, but there were no maps or documents on it.

“I guess we’ll find out in a moment,” was Ike’s answer. “But I agree we need to meet like this. There is something I need to say as well.” Mist sat beside him, leaned her head against his shoulder, and yawned. “You did excellent work today, Mist,” Ike whispered, wrapping an arm around her.

Mist smiled tiredly and nodded. “It was a difficult battle.”

“No one came out uninjured, but no one was killed,” Titania added. “We can be grateful to you for that.”

Tibarn soon reappeared with Elincia, Caineghis, and the kings’ bodyguard Giffca. The already crowded tent became even more claustrophobic with the addition of the three large laguz. Caineghis and Giffca took a bench near the tent flap, which Ranulf had kept clear for them. They squeezed in side by side, but before he sat down, the Beast King assessed the group with mild confusion. “This group contains the people who were at the heart of the last battle, correct?”

“Yes, it is,” Elincia replied politely, although she didn’t seem to know why they were here either. Bastian patted the seat he’d reserved between himself and Ike, and Elincia sat graciously.

The Hawk King was the only one who didn’t sit down, instead standing just in front of the tent flap. He glanced at Elincia in surprise and then jerked his chin at Soren and Mist. “What about those two children? Surely they weren’t involved!”

Soren’s patience met its end. “Children?” he growled.

Mist lifted herself off Ike’s shoulder and sat straighter. She looked embarrassed. “Um…”

Ike stood to address Tibarn. “This is Soren. He’s my tactician. And this is my sister, Mist.” Taking a steadying breath, he ran his gaze from Elincia, to Tibarn, to Caineghis, and then over the rest of the room. “Before we begin this war council, there’s something I need to share with all of you… It’s a story about my parents. I’ve kept it from my sister, but I felt this would be a good chance for her to hear it, so I asked her to join us.”

Mist look confused and nervous.

Everyone was silent while they waited for him to continue, but Ike had returned his gaze to Tibarn as if waiting for his permission. “Understood. Go on.” He folded his arms patiently.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Ike began: “It all began when we met Princess Elincia and escorted her to Gallia. My father began acting strangely, putting me in charge of things. I think he knew something was about to happen, something bad.” He paused a moment. “The night after we encountered General Petrine and the Black Knight in a Gallian ruin, my father met the Black Knight again in the woods outside Castle Gebal. He had been sent by King Daein. He demanded my father hand over Lehran’s Medallion—your medallion, Mist.” He turned to her but didn’t seem able to meet her eye for more than a moment. “Father lied and said he didn’t have it. For that, the Black Knight killed him… The medallion houses a chaotic power: a dark god that causes the person touching it to lose their mind in a violent rage. Only someone with true inner peace like Mist, my mother, or one of the Heron Clan can bear it. When I was a kid, my father accidentally touched the medallion and, in his madness, accidentally killed my mother.”

Mist’s hand flew to her mouth. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something. Her eyes moistened.

“King Ashnard wants to use the dark god’s power,” Ike continued, “He wants to somehow release it from the medallion, and he has for a long time. We believe he is the one who killed the apostle and framed Serenes—just so he could acquire Lehran’s Medallion and kidnap a heron royal: Princess Lillia.”

This claim was met by appropriately aghast murmuring.

“He didn’t succeed back then, but he has the medallion again now. Nasir stole it from Mist and gave it to Daein.” Ike took a deep breath. “That is everything I know.”

“F-father…” Something between a croak and a sob broke out of Mist’s throat. “He… Is that how…Mom…? That’s…not true, is it?”

Titania leaned across Soren to grasp her hand. “Mist… Do you want to leave?”

“Um…” Mist wiped her eyes and blinked rapidly. “No.” She shook her head. “I’m all right. I’m just a little confused.”

“Mist…” She squeezed her hand again before releasing. Ike sat back down and turned to her like he wanted to say something comforting, but he did not.

Soren’s didn’t mind Titania’s intrusion into his personal space or Mist’s touching display. His mind was busy turning over Ike’s words. Nothing had been said that he hadn’t already known, and yet hearing it like this made him wonder why he and everyone else had been so willing to assume they knew Ashnard’s desires.

“That’s the whole of it, eh?” Caineghis said contemplatively. His chin was resting on his steepled hands, and his brow was furrowed. 

“So this was never just a dispute between Crimea and Daein,” Tibarn observed, mimicking the Lion King’s expression. “There was something else at play the entire time.”

“What could King Ashnard’s ultimate goal possibly be?” Elincia surprised them all with the anger in her voice. “He has risked everything, even surrendering his own country!” (Soren had to admit it was a strange approach to conquering a continent.)

“Twenty-two years ago, before he became king, he tried to release the dark god from within the medallion, didn’t he?” Caineghis asked. “That was why Greil and Elena fled Daein.”

Ike nodded. “Princess Lillia didn’t have the power to release the dark god. Apparently only someone named Altina can do that. But my mother and father helped thwart him by stealing the medallion. Though… They were forced to leave Lillia behind. She died Ashnard’s prisoner.” He glanced at Tibarn to see if he already knew this.

Tibarn gave one slow nod. “Reyson told me.” Soren wondered if this explained Phoenicis’s sudden involvement in the war, but their visit to Palmeni Temple had been months ago.

Ike looked from Tibarn to Caineghis. “You know about the dark god, don’t you? What kind of being is it? What would happen if it were freed from its prison?”

Neither answered immediately, but eventually Caineghis spoke: “I fear the world would once again be beset by natural calamity—much like it was eight hundred years ago. At that time, all the world, save Tellius, was drowned beneath the seas.”

Soren had heard the story. Holy texts told of an evil being so powerful it had drowned all lands except Tellius, which had only been spared because the people here were the most beloved by the goddess. Soren had always interpreted this as propaganda used by Begnion to justify its theocratic empire.

Religious scholars debated where the dark god had come from, but most agreed it had been spawned from the collective hearts of sinful men. Soren had always seen this as parable to scare commoners into obeying laws and paying taxes.

These scholars wondered why the beast, bird, and dragon laguz had also been saved by Ashera, but most agreed it had been an accident. Others believed the dark god had spared them intentionally, and still others believed they were spared only to serve as slaves for the superior beorc.

Given the anti-laguz attitude of this myth, Soren was surprised Caineghis would give it any credence. But even more important was the lack of evidence of the supposed flood eight hundred years ago. There were no written or pictorial records of any continents, people, or cultures outside of Tellius. As a king and a reasonable man, Caineghis should have known better than to take holy scripture for historical fact.

Elincia seemed as reluctant as Soren to believe the legend. “That is a true story? I thought it was nothing more than a fable.”

“All laguz are taught our people’s history,” Ranulf replied, sounding honestly confused. “It was only eight centuries ago. How can beorc have forgotten?”

“Burn a beorc’s precious books, and he’ll forget what he had for breakfast that morning,” Lethe hissed under breath.

Caineghis cleared his throat and Lethe looked immediately contrite. “At any rate, we have living proof,” he addressed Elincia, “Goldoa’s King Deghinsea. He and two other heroes fought alongside the Goddess herself to defeat the dark one.”

The beorc all looked appropriately astonished. Soren knew from his research at Melior and Sienne that the dragons were the most long-living of the laguz, but this was beyond anything he’d imagined.

Elincia gave voice to the disbelief in the room: “King Goldoa was one of the legendary heroes? But he’s…still alive.”

Tibarn nodded grimly. “The Black Dragon King is a living fossil, and as stubborn as anything alive. He’s been trying to control the rest of us for years, and he always says the same thing.” He pulled a long, serious face, raised his finger in reprimand, and continued in a dignified, elderly-sounding voice: “‘Do not fan the flames of strife. As long as Lehran’s Medallion exists, you must never begin a war that engulfs the entire continent.’” He dropped the act and waved both hands as if to say ‘take that as you will.’

Silence fell over the tent as everyone mulled over his words. Soren surprised himself by breaking it. “Never begin a war?” he repeated, wondering if it could be that simple. “It’s possible…” Realizing everyone was staring at him, he thought aloud: “Perhaps there is more than one way for the dark god to gain its freedom.”

“Oh ho! Aren’t you the clever one?” Tibarn seemed honestly surprised. “That’s just what the Black Dragon King says. Yet, the truth of that is unknown. There’s a war going on right now, but the dark god’s nowhere in sight, is it?”

Although Tibarn was right to be skeptical, this war hadn’t consumed all of Tellius—at least, not yet. “I think I may finally know Ashnard’s intentions,” he finally said.

“Really?” Ike asked hopefully. All eyes were on Soren now.

He stood and took a steadying breath before continuing: “King Goldoa said a conflict that engulfs the entire continent would free the dark god from the medallion. Let us assume that the war would have such an effect on the medallion no matter where it was or who possessed it.” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “And let’s assume King Daein believes this as well. After heron galdr had failed and the medallion had been stolen, a war was the only catalyst left to him. But he needed the right tinder to spark a blaze that would spread to every nation.” 

“Crimea…” Elincia murmured sadly.

Soren nodded. “It had to be Crimea. Begnion was too big, too powerful. Daein would have lost. Crimea, however, is a country known more for its scholarship than its military strength. Ashnard gambled that a surprise invasion would let Daein win while taking minimal casualties. And he was right. Crimea was easy prey.”

Elincia’s eyes flickered closed, and she bit her lip. But she didn’t argue.

Soren expected someone to scold him for hurting her feelings again, but no one did. So he continued: “King Ramon was friendly toward laguz,” he glanced at Caineghis. “I imagine that this, too, influenced Ashnard’s decision. If things went well, the conflict would be enough to draw in Crimea’s ally, Gallia, and the fire would spread. First Crimea, then Gallia, and eventually Begnion as well. Daein’s power would increase, and strife and discord would spread across the continent, eventually reaching the lost medallion.”

“Did we…” Elincia seemed suddenly sickened. “Do you think we made King Ashnard _happy_ that we involved Begnion as soon as we did? Did we play into his hands? Oh goddess,” she gasped, “did he let us wage war on his people so the flames would consume Daein as well?”

“It is quite possible,” Soren agreed.

Ike was as aghast as Elincia. “So you believe King Daein’s ultimate goal is to awaken the dark god?”

“I do,” Soren answered firmly. “Previously I assume he wished to control the dark god’s power, to use it as a weapon. But now it seems more likely the medallion is not a means of winning the war; the war itself is a means to an end.”

“But _why?_ ” Titania asked incredulously.

“Because he’s mad,” Ike answered numbly, seeming to come to terms with Soren’s theory. “Everyone calls him the Mad King, and maybe there’s some truth to that. Everything I know about the guy is that he prizes strength above all else and surrounds himself with the strongest fighters he can find.”

Soren nodded. “I know not how he came to learn the story of the medallion. But I cannot imagine it sat well with him that such power had been locked away.”

“So you’re saying he doesn’t care if the world burns—if his own people are annihilated—as long as the strongest person—no, the strongest being is the cause of it?” Titania’s voice was outraged.

“I agree with this assessment,” Caineghis announced, getting to his feet. At this, Soren sat back down. “Unfortunately, this means our plan to attack King Ashnard at the capital fits right into his strategy, doesn’t it? It may be the trigger he needs to break the dark god’s bonds.”

“Even if that’s true, we can’t stop now!” Tibarn growled. “The war’s gone too far for that.”

“We have to smash Daein to end its menace once and for all.” Ike pounded his fist into his hand. “We bury every one of them and finish it.”

Caineghis seemed conflicted. He grumbled under his breath for a moment and then said, “Agreed. That’s the only plan that makes any sense.” His voice was resigned, and he sat back down a moment later.

“If only we had the medallion with us,” Reyson murmured, sounding forlorn.

Tibarn took a step forward, because the prince was seated toward the back of the tent. “What is it, Reyson? Is there a way to avoid all of this?”

“We—that is, the descendants of Lehran’s tribe—have a gift,” Reyson explained. “Through the power of the slumber galdr, we herons should be able to suppress the chaotic energies of the dark god in the medallion. So even if a massive battle occurred, if it were in my possession, I might be able to…” He shook his head.

“I’m so sorry!” Mist suddenly burst. “It’s because of my carelessness that the medallion was lost in the first place!”

“Mist! I told you that it wasn’t your fault, didn’t I?” Ike scolded.

“But-”

“You were never careless, Mist.” Elincia reached across Ike to touch her shoulder. “I know. You kept the medallion next to you at all times. You told me it was a keepsake of your mother’s and you always, always took good care of it. Didn’t you? That’s why it is not your fault. So please, don’t punish yourself anymore.”

“Princess Elincia…” Mist wiped away her tears.

All Soren could think was that they’d all been careless; they’d all trusted Nasir for so long. But he held his tongue. No good would come of placing blame, and he certainly wasn’t blameless. He’d known not to trust Nasir, and yet he’d done nothing.

“She’s right,” Ranulf agreed. “And besides, the dark god could be released no matter where the medallion is. So it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thank you, Ranulf,” Mist sniffed.

“Alright.” Tibarn clapped his hands together. “It’s about time for you to hear what I have to say. Reyson!” He stepped forward until he reached the pole at the tent’s center.

“Yes?” The heron stood uncertainly.

“I’m sorry.”

“F-for what?” He looked as confused as everyone, and somewhat uncomfortable.

“Leanne’s been kidnapped. It may have been by Daein’s hand.”

“That…can’t be.” Reyson staggered backward, but Tibarn closed the distance between them and grabbed his arm before he could trip over the seat he’d just risen from. “I’m sorry,” he said again, much more softly. Reyson found his way to sitting back down.

“Why would Leanne by taken?” Ike asked, “The release galdr can only be sung by the girl Altina…”

“But Ashnard doesn’t know that, right?” Ranulf shook his head.

“Oh no…” Ike’s eyes widened, and Soren could only assume he was recalling Lillia’s fate.

“What a mess,” Ranulf moaned, “Nothing can even be clear and simple, can it?”

“It cannot,” Caineghis sighed, “Not when our adversary is a madman who cares for nothing—and no one—save his own ambition.”

“Before today…I did not believe in evil,” Elincia whispered quietly.

“You mean the medallion?” Ike asked sympathetically.

“No…” was her answer.


	13. CHAPTER 44: PINELL

That evening, nestled in the Marhaut Range, Soren pored over Gallian and Phoenician reports of the occupation. Crimea had changed considerably in the past two years. Entire towns had been wiped off the map, and new ones had sprung up where armies were stationed. Rivers had been dammed, forests had been leveled, and the balance of political power had been warped in Ashnard’s hand.

It would take a clear, targeted plan to oust Daein as quickly as possible. His mind raced, and hours slipped by without his noticing. The Crimean-Gallian-Phoenician-Begnion army was over twelve thousand strong, and it was probably the most diverse fighting force Tellius had ever seen. The offensive and defensive possibilities were incalculable, but Soren was determined to calculate them all.

The refugees returned to the mountain the next day, and Elincia promised this would be one step closer to eventually returning home. Many beorc soldiers helped move them, but the laguz held back. Some said they didn’t wish to scare the civilians, but others had no qualms claiming the humans didn’t deserve any more aid than the laguz was already providing. 

Ike, however, refused to accept either excuse, and by the afternoon, he and Ranulf had persuaded a group of beast soldiers to help transport goods, gather food, and prepare shelters for the displaced beorc. Ike simultaneously convinced the people to accept the aid and be kind. Soren found himself wondering if there was some skill Ike possessed that made him the only person in the world who could accomplish this, or if anyone might have done it if they’d tried. 

That evening, the hidden ravine was alive with Gallian drum music, dancing, and song as the members of the two armies got to know each other. All food was still strictly rationed, but as Soren walked around camp, he realized commiserating about hunger and fantasizing about home cooking bonded the troops almost as well as breaking bread together.

After night had fallen, Caineghis, Giffca, and a small party of guardsmen bid farewell. Dark gods aside, the Beast King couldn’t leave his nation for an extended period of time (especially not if it involved a fighting in a beorc war many of his senior statesmen still disproved of). Ike, Elincia, Tibarn, Reyson, and a few others saw them off. Soren skipped the affair to read the latest reports in the strategy tent.

For three days, the army rested, scouted, procured supplies, and enjoyed the Marhaut hot springs. Soren kept himself busy planning future routes, assaults, and contingencies, but he did enjoy not having to spend the majority of each day marching from place to place.

Eventually the day to make decisions arrived. The army’s leaders and their retainers were all in attendance. “Everyone seems to be here,” Ike said, standing on his toes to get a better view of the many people seated in the crowded tent. “Go ahead, Soren. You can begin now.”

All eyes moved to him.

“Very well.” Soren unrolled a large map of Crimea at the center table and placed stones on its corners. “Take a look at this map. The current position of our army is here in the Marhaut Range. If we want to hit Melior directly, there are two large outposts in our way—Fort Pinell and Castle Nados.” He pointed to each in turn.

“The dual redoubts were built to guardian our fair capital,” Bastian said, in a sing-song voice. (Having worked closely with him since Delbray, Soren was certain by now that ‘fair’ was his favorite word.) “But now Daein rules them both, and knows of us. With rations set, they could hold out a year. Say what you will of Daein and her foul plans, one must admire her skill in things of war.”

Despite his odd mannerisms and his devious nature, Soren couldn’t help but appreciate Bastian because he dared say things like that. And he was right—Crimea could learn a thing or two from Daein. No one else, however, seemed to appreciate the sentiment. “Come on, Bastian!” Geoffrey complained, “Why would you praise our foe?”

“I do but speak the mean of it, good sir,” was Bastian’s reply. “The truth is harsh, but lies would be worse still.”

“Will you two please shut up? Please?” Lucia snapped. “Sheesh!”

“Pinell and Nados are fairly close to one another,” Ike said to get them back on track. “I doubt they would expect us to attack both at once, but…” He glanced at Soren.

“That seems to be a waste of our strength,” Titania interjected. “And we don’t want to get ambushed from the rear while attacking.”

“We cannot divide our army, but we could send a small force to attack the base with the weaker defenses and keep it occupied,” Soren said firmly. “At the same time, the main army can focus on the other and conquer it.”

“I see…” Ike nodded. “So which one has more soldiers?”

“That would be Fort Pinell.” Soren pointed to it again. “Reports estimate ten thousand, whereas Nados is furnished with only six thousand.” 

“Very well,” Tibarn said decidedly, “Then the main army should lead an assault on Fort Pinell. Meanwhile, I’ll take my armada and a unit or so of Gallians to Castle Nados. We’ll launch an attack, and when they come out to meet us, we’ll retreat. Then we’ll attack again!” The Hawk King laughed. “It will keep them busy.”

This was exactly the plan Soren had devised. Walls were useless against winged units, and Daein’s archers had likely never fought bird laguz before. They would have trouble calculating range initially. If Tibarn’s hawks insisted on retreating, the best tactic for Daein would be to deploy platoons of mounted archers beyond the castle walls. If Tibarn could draw them far enough away, the Gallian unit could then disrupt and kill the defenseless cavalry with little risk to themselves.

“That should give us the time we need,” Ike agreed. “We’ll take care of our front within a day, so you must retreat by nightfall.”

“It’s settled then.” Tibarn’s bobbed his head eagerly.

“Let’s go capture a fort!” Ike announced, to which everyone either cheered or saluted rigidly.

Moving the huge army took time. The route Soren charted led to Melior (and therefore Pinell and Nados) in as straight a line as possible, but they encountered numerous small ambushes while they marched, which inevitably slowed their progress. That being said, none of these skirmishes posed a serious threat to their newly amassed numbers.

The Phoenician scouts could travel long distances very quickly and always returned with detailed, accurate reports. The Gallian sentries always sensed would-be interlopers from a far distance, keeping their convoy wagons safe day and night. Thus protected, the Crimea Liberation Army washed through towns and villages like a purifying flame, burning away the black rot of Daein on their way to the capital.

After two weeks, they arrived at the place where the road split toward either Pinell or Nados. Here they made camp and divided their forces. Tibarn’s regiment of five hundred hawks and five hundred beasts would depart at sunrise the next morning. A few hours later, Ike’s army would attack Fort Pinell. The plan was to have the fort conquered by the end of the day. That was when Tibarn would call off his own attack and they’d regroup. 

Soren was lying on his cot, trying to get some sleep. He’d memorized the layout of Fort Pinell. He’d read all the reconnaissance reports about the troops stationed there and their commander. He was ready for tomorrow’s battle, which would be the greatest of the war so far, but his sleep was a fitful one.

Sometime in the early morning, he gave up trying to return to sleep. He traced Ike’s presence through the camp, which rustled quietly in the pre-dawn darkness as the anxious troops started to wake. Tibarn would be leaving soon, and Ike would be seeing him off. He didn’t intend to eavesdrop, or perhaps he did, because he wandered in that direction.

Tibarn, Reyson, and Ike were chatting while the hawk-beast battalion assembled behind them. Soren pretended to sift through the contents of the nearest convoy wagon. He was close enough to hear the conversation.

“Reyson, no,” Tibarn was saying, “I truly am sorry. Leanne’s kidnapping is completely my fault.”

“It’s not your fault. Please don’t apologize. I know she is alive,” Reyson said firmly, “These battlefields are filled with chaotic energy, but I can still sense her. It’s faint, but I know it’s Leanne.”

“Which is all the more reason for us to hurry,” Tibarn sighed, “There may be other ways to finish this, but crushing Daein is the surest.”

“Agreed,” Reyson said.

“Reyson,” Ike spoke up, “is this mysterious power that you use to sense Leanne something only herons possess?”

Tibarn laughed. “It’s not something any of the hawk clans have! That’s for sure!”

“That’s not true, Tibarn,” Reyson countered, “The power may differ in potency between us, but all laguz possess telesthesia to some degree.”

 _And the Branded,_ Soren thought sourly.

“Ah,” Tibarn replied with mock-dejection, “so it’s just that my sense isn’t developed, is that it?”

“The power is distributed something like this,” Reyson explained, sounding as if he were a patient teacher and the Hawk King a child, “Among the bird tribes, it’s very strong in the heron clan. Among the beast tribes, I’ve heard it’s most developed in the cat clan, though not as strongly as in the herons. As for the dragon tribes, it’s said they may be equal to, or even surpass, the strength of the herons.”

“Even though I knew not all laguz were alike,” Ike replied in awe, “There are even more difference than I’d imagined.”

“Your eyes should have told you that. Once we change, we don’t look alike, do we?” Tibarn teased.

“Good point.” It sounded like there was a smile in his voice.

Soren decided to move out of earshot. Soon he saw Tibarn and the other hawks take to the sky. Only then did Soren approach Ike directly.

“Are preparations underway,” Ike asked when he saw him.

“Titania is seeing to it.”

Ike just nodded. There were bags under his eyes. “Did you sleep at all?” Soren asked.

Ike shook his head. “Not much. You?”

“Enough,” Soren lied. “Tibarn’s unit has gone?”

“Yes, moments ago,” Ike said. He glanced to the east. “The sun will be rising soon.” At his words, the first rays of daylight started peeking over the tops of distant trees.

“General Ike!” A soldier clad in Crimean armor saluted as he marched toward them. Another followed at his side carrying an armful of scrolls.

“Yes?” Ike asked.

“May we ask that you review these manifests before the we move out?” he asked politely.

Ike glanced at Soren and winced as if in defeat, but when he turned back to the soldiers, he smiled. “Of course.”

The pair began asking questions while handing Ike one scroll after the next. They walked him through lists of units, their battalions, and their commanding officers so Ike could confirm everything was correct. Soren gave advice and answers when he could. Then came the complaints. Apparently one of the Gallian battalions needed more olivi grass to sustain their transformations. One beorc battalion had received a double ration of vulneraries while another had received none. The commander of one Begnion battalion was demanding one of the Crimean battalions’ mounted healers be assigned to his group. Some of the beorc were wondering why the Gallian King would not be fighting with the army if he is so great, and their criticism was causing the Gallian soldiers to raise their hackles (literally). The list of concerns went on.

Ike was surprisingly patient while each of these miscommunications and irregularities was addressed, and Soren felt oddly proud. 

After over half an hour of this, they were approached by a very peculiar sight. The busy camp made way for a small procession heading toward them. Bastian, Geoffrey, and Lucia followed Elincia, who was dressed in armor, carried a sword at her hip, wore a Mend staff on her back, and was leading a brilliant white pegasus by the reins. Ike’s jaw dropped, and one of the soldiers fumbled, dropping half the scrolls.

“My lord Ike.” Elincia inclined her head. Her hair had been woven into mound of braids atop her head, and instead of a tiara, she wore a thick, protective battle crown.

“Princess Elincia…” Ike said, but he didn’t seem to know what else to say. After a moment Elincia blushed, and Ike recovered himself slightly. “Huh? What’s going on? Why are you dressed like that?”

“I thought to join you on the battle lines,” was her answer. Soren could hardly believe what he was hearing. Elincia was their employer and the future queen. It was ridiculous that she should ask to fight beside her own soldiers. She wasn’t Commander Greil; she wasn’t a commander at all.

“Is that a pegasus?” Ike asked, tearing his eyes away. “Where’d you get that?”

“He belonged to my great-grandmother,” Elincia explained, stroking the beast’s long face. “I’m a bit nervous about riding him, but I’m going to try nevertheless.”

“I appreciate that you want to fight—” Ike shook his head “—but your retainers will never allow it. Will they?” He looked meaningfully at the trio.

Elincia flashed a knowing smile. “As for that…” She turned the others.

“Did you agree to this, Geoffrey?” Ike demanded.

“No.” He frowned “Personally, I am against it, but…” He threw up his hands. “She is the Princess, and it is her wish. What can I do.”

“The Princess’s great-grandmother was a Begnion Pegasus knight of some renown before marrying into House Ridell,” Lucia explained. “Princess Elincia herself is skilled at both riding and swordsmanship. As a child, she was granted permission to train in case the need for her to fight ever arose.”

“Behold the pegasus and uniform!” Bastian sang loudly. “All treasures of our House Crimea fair. We did fear much that we would never see a chance to use them in their proper stead. Oh, muse of fire! I cannot find the words! Behold a light that dares shame the sun! Our Princess clad in raiment fair and fine gives us courage, love, and vigor to our cause.”

“I am surprised you were able to hide armor and a flying horse from the Daein army,” Ike grumbled, as if his doubt could make them disappear before his eyes.

“Lord Renning foresaw a time when the princess would need them and bade us convey them from the palace,” Bastian explained mournfully. “His thoughts were always of the Princess, even as his life abandoned him. ‘Be true to your heart, and live life as it dictates.’ Those were his final words to her.”

Elincia seemed to draw strength from Bastian’s poetry. “My lord uncle was always the one person who understood me best. Even though I’m dressed like this, I have no experience and do not expect to fight as well as the rest of you, but…” She frowned and stood straighter. “This constant waiting behind and doing nothing… It sets my heart beating with such unease I fear it may burst. Even if I cannot fight, I can use a staff to heal the wounded. If I can save just one soldier, it would mean so much to me… Please, my lord Ike. I promise to obey orders and stay out of harm’s way as best I can.”

Soren was tempted to respect Elincia for her resolve, but stronger than this temptation was the feeling that she was ruining everything. She was stealing Ike’s heart. The young commander had been infatuated with the princess from the moment they’d found her in those woods. Before leaving Begnion, he’d been named lord and general. He could court her if he wished, but Soren had never expected that to actually happen. Ike was most alive on the battlefield, and Soren couldn’t imagine him truly falling for someone who didn’t share that experience.

But here she was, armored and armed, ready for fight. There was a spark in her eyes that mirrored Ike’s own, and he clearly couldn’t look away. When this war was over, he would choose her over the Greil Mercenaries, and he would be right to do so. He would be a much-loved king.

By the time Soren returned his attention to the proceedings, Geoffrey and Lucia had just finished speaking on Elincia’s behalf.

“This is not something that I can allow or disallow,” Ike finally said, his voice only half-surrender. “She is my employer. If this is what the princess wants, all I can do is comply. Be careful, won’t you?”

“Oh, thank you so much!” Elincia brought her hands together and did a little hop on the balls of her feet that caused her armor to clank.

“Let us go forth like sunlight to the dawn!” Bastian crowed, “Elincia fights, and Crimea wins the day!” Every Crimean soldier within earshot cheered proudly.

Ike was smiling and Elincia was smiling, and they were smiling at each other.

Soren tried to destroy the moment. “We move out within the hour,” he said, but no one became disheartened by the thought of battle.

“Find Titania and see that the battalions are assembled,” Ike replied. “Elincia will fight under my command. Assign Kieran as Mist’s guard today. I’ll see to the changes discussed with these men.” He gestured to the Crimean soldiers behind him.

With Titania’s help, the massive army was appropriately segmented and made ready to march. Everyone had their orders, they knew their drills, and (with any luck) they would remember to watch their platoon commanders for guidance on the battlefield.

Soren’s strategy today depended on the simple task of pushing, dividing, and spreading out the enemy troops. Tessellation was the Liberation Army’s best chance of success. At the appropriate junctures, the platoon commanders would signal their troops to break up and spread out. The force of ten thousand would divide into forces of thirty-five hundred, which would divide into forces of eleven hundred, which would divide into forces of four hundred, which would divide into forces of one-hundred. At each point of division, some soldiers would die, someone would continue forward, and some would strike out on either side—becoming a new unit with a new commander, until the next subdivision.

The purpose of this was to gain the field. With a disproportionate number of cavalry and beast laguz (which Soren considered pseudo-cavalry), this was the only way the Liberation Army would be able to properly leverage its units and full numbers. If Daein’s defense remained solid, they would never infiltrate the fort.

Unfortunately, Soren knew many platoons would fail to act at the correct moments. They knew their orders now, but they would forget them when the chaos of battle surrounded them. On the field, they would kill or be killed. Soldiers would lash out violently, desperately. They would act on instinct, not a half-remembered strategy they pretended to understand during their briefing. They would act out of anger, fear, and an overfed feeling of bravery. Soren had seen many battles, and that was what always happened.

“Ike, Soren.” Titania approached just before the call to march. “I have just received the most recent report from our scouts, and there are more enemy soldiers than expected. With this morning’s reinforcements, the army deployed outside the walls now numbers nine thousand.”

“And we must assume the fort houses many more troops,” Soren added. “At least six thousand.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ike declared, “Even if they had twenty times our numbers, it wouldn’t change anything. We must overcome them. In this war, there can be no retreat.”

“Then this may prove to be a long battle,” was Soren’s reply.

“Soren, do you have any information on the enemy general?” Ike asked suddenly.

He was surprised; Ike didn’t usually care for such details. But he answered promptly: “Our intelligence indicates the commander of this army is Bertram, one of Daein’s Four Riders.”

“One of the Four Riders?” Ike repeated. “So he’s on par with that woman we fought earlier, General Petrine?”

“Not necessarily,” Soren cautioned. “The title of Rider is given to four persons of supposedly highest ability among the king’s advisers. In other words, whoever catches his eye at the moment.”

“The members can change, right? Bertram is one of the newer ones…” Titania attempted to remember.

Soren was disappointed she didn’t already have her enemies memorized. She was setting a bad example for Ike. “Most senior among the Riders is General Bryce, who served the previous king. Then there was General Petrine, who’d been part of Ashnard’s inner circle for some time before we defeated her at Riven Bridge. The enigmatic general known as the Black Knight did not rise to power until just before the start of the war, and the man we face today, General Bertram, displaced a previous Rider six months after the conquest of Melior. Those are the four.”

“We are certain this Black Knight is the same who murdered Commander Greil?” Titania asked timidly.

“Of that, there appears to be little doubt,” Soren replied. Unfortunately, it seemed they would have to defeat all Four Riders before they could reach the Mad King, which meant facing the Black Knight sooner or later. Soren glanced at Ike, searching his guarded expression for any sign of his intentions, but he revealed nothing.

“Tell us, Soren,” Titania asked, changing the subject, “do you have more information on General Bertram?”

“I don’t know where he hails from,” Soren admitted (in truth, Bertram was almost as much of an enigma as the Black Knight), “only that he appeared after the fall of Crimea and quickly gained Ashnard’s favor.”

“So he’s a man of no mean ability,” Titania sighed.

“Like the Black Knight, he always wears his armor and never shows his face unhelmed. Some say he’s not even in his armor, but that it’s inhabited by an ancient specter or a demonic creature. It’s all just superstition and rumor designed to heighten fear of him,” Soren explained.

“It’s not important.” Ike shook his head. “Once we cross swords, we’ll know the truth. Then we can discover for ourselves if he’s just a loudmouthed braggart or truly a monster. As long as our blades can wound him, I don’t care either way.” He turned abruptly and marched over to his awaiting troops.

Soren recalled what he’d said about his sword having no effect on the Black Knight. The possibility of an invulnerable enemy commander was concerning to say the least.

“Let’s go!” Ike called, and the army slowly started rolling out.

A wide valley stretched between the Crimea Liberation Army and Fort Pinell, but it was empty. They advanced, but the Daein forces remained where they were: tight formations near the fort, a moat of black armor. 

The land inclined gradually, which put Pinell above them. Ike called the army to a halt just out of range of the fort’s anti-siege ballistae. Three defensive trebuchets were mounted on the ramparts beside the eastern, southern, and western towers, and three more were stationed on the roof and landings of the keep itself. Soren knew these were going to be one of the biggest threats to the Liberation Army today.

“Loyal soldiers of Crimea!” Ike raised his sword, and people cheered. “Proud soldiers of Gallia! Brave soldiers of Begnion! My friends, this is Fort Pinell—” he pointed his blade behind him “—and it belongs to Crimea. Daein has no place here, and we will take it back!” By now his every sentence was earning roars, whistles, hollering voices, and banging weapons. “Charge now!”

He started running, and the frontal wedge was right behind him. A third of the army split to the right, and another split to the left. The majority of each were laguz, balanced with Crimean and Begnion horsemen. The middle section was predominantly infantry, with the vanguard comprised of Ike’s mercenaries. Soren was there, running beside him, and he didn’t stop running when they came within range and the trebuchets started flinging their deadly payloads.

Ahead of them were the shoulder-to-shoulder Daeins, whose ranks arced around the fort’s round walls. Their shields were locked; their pikes were out. But before Soren, Ike, and the others could reach them, they were forced to climb over the trenches and subsequent mounds of dirt that had been dug to break their momentum. As expected, this age-old tactic was highly effective, and the Liberation Army’s vanguard struggled to break Daein’s ranks once they reached the other side.

Behind the frontlines, row upon row of enemy archers fired volleys into the Liberation Army’s ranks. By the time the last row had fired, the first row had redrawn, and so the hellish rain never ceased. 

There were mages too, wielding powerful spells like Thoron and Bolganone. The initial bolt from Thoron was enough to kill an individual and stun whoever was standing beside them, and the second half of the attack—an orb of crackling electricity that fell from the sky—was enough to knock out and seriously injure anyone caught in the vicinity. As for Bolganone, it could be even worse, because—packed in tightly as they were—it was difficult to see the ground glowing red-hot as the dirt turned to magma. The brutal fire attack was a limb-eater, burning away the victim’s feet, legs, and arms if they toppled and tried to catch themselves. Of course, this depended on how long the enemy mage was able to sustain the spell. And judging by the sobbing cries and mutilated corpses around him, Soren judged these mages were quite powerful. 

All the while, the trebuchets barraged the army with heavy, rolling stones, each of which took out a line of soldiers just waiting for their chance to fight. The Liberation Army was being obliterated, and Soren’s plan wasn’t working. The Daein’s defense was too strong, their ranks too compact. They wouldn’t let themselves be drawn out, but until that happened, the trebuchets were going to keep firing.

“Find the cracks!” Ike was calling. “Remember the plan! Push! Push! Stay with your platoon commanders! Wait for the signals! We’re doing alright!” His encouragement heartened everyone who managed to hear it over the cacophony of death. Soren willed himself to take heart as well and paced himself as he incanted his spells. He reminded himself that he’d known this was going to be a long battle.

Finally they’d made enough progress to warrant the first signal. Begnion troops were trained to obey coordinated horn blows to tell them where to go and what to do next on the field of battle. The Crimean military used a symbology of tall, colored flags, which usually fluttered above the rump of the commander’s horse. As for Gallian soldiers, Soren had recently discovered they followed a code of drumbeats and roars. On the journey to Pinell, he’d integrated the best of these practices for full battlefield communication, and the platoon commanders had trained their troops vigorously to memorize and obey the new signals. Now they were given, and the first division occurred. The platoons concentrated, pushed, and then divided, pressing to the sides. The swarm of confused Daein seethed away, keeping themselves alive and setting up new defenses.

Before long, Ike called for the second divide, and each platoon multiplied again. By now, the Daein soldiers had been spread out into the trebuchet’s range, so the engineers could only target the most distant troops or else injure their own people.

After the third divide, the Daeins were spread out enough that the cavalry and laguz on either side could finally pick up speed and conduct their maneuvers effectively. Before, everyone had merely been battering the exterior of Daein’s defenses, but now the fight was all around them. The Liberation Army had fallen back, but that was necessary. Outside Pinell was a large valley just waiting to be watered with blood, and now the two armies splashed across it.

This wasn’t Soren preferred type of battle, but it was what the Liberation Army needed right now. Fighting enemies on all sides meant watching flailing bodies in every direction and having to discern in an instant which ones were attacking him. It meant hearing cries behind his head and having to twist around to see if it was an incoming attack or just someone rolling on the ground in pain. He needed to be constantly on his toes and always with a defensive spell on his lips. But he could do it. He promised himself he would hold out until the end.

The key now was for the platoons to stay together even while they fought out of formation. They needed to be ready for the tide of battle to change again—such as when Daein managed to open up channels and deploy their feral laguz. Jill and Haar were giving Ike frequent reports to make up for what he couldn’t see. According to them, a hundred feral cats and tigers had been unleashed. But Soren had prepared for this. Evenly dispersed among the army were special units of laguz-killers: fire mages and soldiers wielding specialized, serrated weapons. To Soren’s satisfaction, he heard and saw the signals summoning these units, and Haar later reported that the threats had been neutralized.

Unfortunately, Soren later heard reports that Daein had prepared similar countermeasures, and phalanxes of Daein ‘hunters’ were targeting the Gallian soldiers with the same laguz-killing weapons. When Ike heard this, he ordered additional healers to move from the center of the battlefield to the sides to better support them. 

The exception was the healing regiment that scurried under Elincia’s shadow. They kept themselves busy at the core of the army, fighting to create protective rings of shields and shine barriers, at the center of which mortally injured soldiers and mercenaries could be healed enough to return to the fray. Crimean soldiers in particular flocked to Elincia for healing, and they squealed like wild pigs whenever her pegasus flew over their heads.

She never strayed far, so Ike, Titania, and Soren could keep an eye on her. Although she was not an expert swordswoman, she held her own and did not shy away from taking a life when need be. Bastian stayed close to her and her healing regiment, since Lucia and Geoffrey were leading separate platoons, and even her ancient pegasus did its part to protect her, apparently remembering battle well despite spending the past fifty years as a leisure horse in the royal stables. 

Eventually the battlefield thinned. The Daein soldiers were attempting to remember their training and consolidate near the fort again. Another two thousand soldiers slipped outside when it was safe to open the gates, and both armies seemed to take a moment’s reprieve. However, this benefited Daein more than the Liberation Army. They were able to reclaim and reform their defenses, and when fighting resumed again in earnest, it seemed the Crimean forces were starting from scratch with another straight charge.

The hours drew on. When Soren was injured, he found a healer. When he needed to rest his tongue or catch his breath, he fell back to recover. But he stayed with his platoon; he stayed with Ike.

Eventually they reached the wall, and the time came to truly lay siege. Arrows poured from the battlements, but the appropriate platoons remembered their orders and proceeded with mantelets and pavises. They stayed in a cocoon formation around the battering ram, which another platoon was responsible for moving into position. All of the ranged units concentrated their fire on battlements, and Soren, Bastian, and the rest of the wind mages did their part to knock as many enemy arrows out of the sky as they could. Meanwhile, the rest of the army was busy fighting the remnants of the exterior forces.

When they were through, Ike’s platoon led the charge into the bailey. Those platoons whose job until now had merely been to stay together and disperse the Daein troops now had new missions, and fortunately they seemed to remember them. Some groups held the bailey. Some groups set out for the south tower, others the north, east, and west. Some groups sought ways onto the battlements, to end the rain of arrows at its source. Others went to secure the back gate. And the majority moved onto the keep. The battering ram was rolled forward, and soon the entrance to the keep was down as well. Soren remained with Ike’s group, and naturally, they were the first to pour inside.

Fighting around Soren was an eclectic team. Calill and Largo were tavern keepers from Melior, but here they were, roasting and crushing soldiers as if they’d done it their entire lives. Nephenee and Brom were farmers, but she finessed her spear and he his axe as if their hands had never known a hoe and shovel. Tormod and Muarim were freedom fighters from Begnion; this wasn’t their fight, but they were here anyway. Jill and Haar were Talregans, and yet they were killing their own people without hesitation. Astrid was a noblewoman who could have stayed home and been drinking tea safe in her family’s mansion right now. Reyson was a member of an endangered species; he didn’t have to risk his life and his people’s legacy in a place like this, but here he was. Makalov was a gambler, Sothe a thief, Volke an assassin, and Stefan a Branded. They were an unsavory bunch. It didn’t make sense that they considered each other friends and comrades, that they would die for each other without regrets. They were mercenaries, not soldiers—they weren’t bound by duty. But something else drove them to incredible feats. 


	14. CHAPTER 45: THE BLACK KNIGHT

By the time Ike entered the inner hall where Bertram was stationed (with Soren hot on his heels), night was falling. Torches and braziers had been lit for illumination, but they quickly turned into tools of arson and murder. Daein flags and banners smoked on their poles, and arrowheads zipped through the twilight like fireflies. Braziers were overturned to make hasty escapes, and soldiers plunged torches into their opponent’s faces to wound and blind them.

The Crimea Liberation Army had suffered heavy losses, but Daein more so. The soldiers on both sides were exhausted. They all wanted the battle to end, and many sobbed as they fought. Hundreds of Daeins had already wrestled their way out of the fort or retreated from the battle enduring outside the walls. Some were falling back to Melior, other to Nados, although Bertram hadn’t given the order to do either. The captains seemed to resent the Rider and made decisions without him. Soren was curious to see what kind of man he’d be.

“General Bertram!” Ike demanded as soon as they entered the hall. “Surrender! Command your surviving men to drop their weapons so their lives may be spared.”

The Rider was a man of medium height and build, wearing a strange helmet carved into something halfway between a wyvern’s and an eagle’s head. The beak-like visor reached past his nose, shielding his eyes and the entire upper half of his face. He was riding a horse, despite being indoors, and it was turned the wrong way. He was staring at the wall, but at Ike’s words, he jerked the reins and turned around. His personal guard was comprised of shield knights, halberdiers, and mages, but they didn’t attack.

Ike had stopped, so Soren held back as well. The rest of the mercenaries and soldiers remained in the corridor or spilled into the room without straying far.

“I will eat…your soul,” Bertram said softly, and his words were only audible because everyone else had fallen completely silent. He held a long, thin cavalry sabre in his right hand, and a javelin was attached to his saddle. His head was slightly cocked. “Perissshhh…” he hissed, “ _Perissshhh_.” The soldiers around him traded confused glances but ultimately interpreted this as an order to attack.

The mages began casting Elwind, Elthunder, and Elfire spells, so Soren and Bastian stepped up to match them. Gatrie and Tauroneo grappled with the heavily armored guards, Elincia sliced the throat of a light mage, Mist parried the strike of a swordsman, Rhys blinded a knight (melting his face in the process), and Keiran cleaved a soldier’s halberd clean in two before doing the same thing with the owner’s spine. Ike, meanwhile, dashed straight for Bertram.

“ _Perisssshhh_ …” he insisted.

“So you’re Bertram, are you?” Ike said, blocking a strike and vying for leverage. Soren was close enough to see a column of runes shine along the length of the blade, and the sword became suddenly wreathed in golden light.

“Ike, watch out!” he called, but it wasn’t necessary. The light was already blistering Ike’s hands, spotting his gauntlets with corrosion, disintegrating the fabric wraps on his knuckles, and fraying the ends of his sleeves. He could hardly have missed it.

Swearing, he broke away and put some distance between himself and the magical attack. “Sorry,” he said, “but I can’t perish right now.” 

“Me… Kill…” Bertram whispered, slicing left and right.

Ike dodged and jumped back from the horse’s dangerous hooves. He danced around the Rider, but Bertram moved fluidly within his saddle, flourishing his sword in every direction. The horse was no pansy either, and kicked out hard when Ike ducked behind it. Her hooves found his chest, and he fell to the ground gasping. Soren wished he could come to his aid, but he was occupied by the many guardsmen currently trying to stab or decapitate him. It was all he could do to stay close and keep watching with stolen glances.

Ike got to his feet before Bertram rounded on him. They fought on, and eventually Ike managed to dispatch the horse. Bertram slid to the ground, and Ike panted raggedly while he got to his feet.

“Me… Kill… Me…” the Rider muttered.

“What?” Ike asked, advancing again.

Bertram lifted his enchanted sword and continued to fight with both the blade and its light magic. He was clearly as skilled on foot as he was on horseback. “Kill…me… KILL…M-ME!” He was shouting now, and everyone in the room turned to look.

This was a mistake, because the Daein soldiers recovered their attention before most of the mercenaries—including Soren. The sharp end of a spear found its way through the back of his knee, forcing him to the ground. He uttered the final words to the spell he’d been incanting before Bertram’s outburst, and fortunately it still worked. The winds blew behind him just as the soldier wrenched the spear out and was about to stab again. The gusts pinned him to the wall and punctured his body with dozens of invisible, stabbing points.

Soren let the spell fade, and the body fell dead to the floor. Unable to stand, he pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall and surveyed the battle.

“What’s going on? Are you mad?” Ike had stopped attacking, resorting to a defensive stance.

Bertram said no more, but he attacked twice as furiously. Ike was burned and bleeding from head to toe, but his arms had sustained the worst of it. Every time he blocked the arcane blade, its light magic ate away his armor, clothes, flesh, and nerves. No one was currently attacking Soren, so he remained where he was and stared. Ike needed to finish Bertram now, while he still had the strength to wield a blade.

With a frustrated roar, he ducked under the next blow and plunged his sword into the Rider’s gut. Bertram spat up blood and bared a grisly smile. He seized the hilt and seemed to be trying to wrench the blade within the wound, but Ike fought him for control. Growling in frustration, he refused to let the sword move.

Finally the Rider gave up and dropped his hands. “Releassse…” he sighed.

When he slumped, Ike supported his body and moved him into a kneeling position. He was obviously careful of the blade. “Someone, see to him!” he ordered over his shoulder. “Heal his wound and clap him in irons. I want him alive.”

Bastian jumped forward. “I volunteer,” he said with a noticeable lack of poetry. He swiftly untied one of his ornamental tasseled belts. 

“I will heal him,” Elincia said next, but Bastian held up a hand to stop her.

“Lord Ike’s dear sister Mist has the greater experience in this, my lady,” he said. “And it is as ghastly a wound as any. Pray let the girl undo this grisly deed.”

Elincia seemed disappointed but nodded. Mist scurried forward to heal Bertram.

When she reached his side, Ike finally withdrew his sword and laid the man on the floor. While Mist worked, he stood to address his troops, who’d been watching the end of the fight after routing Bertram’s guard. Now they awaited orders. “Makalov, spread word that Bertram is dead. Any Daein soldiers who surrender will be taken into custody.”

“Yes, sir.” He saluted and raced off.

Now that the battle was over, Soren gritted his teeth and got his good leg underneath him. Using the wall for support, he managed to stand.

Ike continued giving orders: “Mia, take a unit and sweep the fort. Devdan, take another to put out fires.” At this, the swordswoman and halberdier saluted and hurried off. “Rhys, join the triage units.” The healer gave a quiver of a nod and disappeared out the hall’s main door. Ike starting walking toward Soren when Ranulf stopped him.

“You sent Mia to search for hidden Daeins?” he asked.

Ike nodded.

“I’ll go with her and lend her some of my feline brethren.”

“You think Daein left an ambush for us?” Ike asked.

Ranulf frowned. “They arranged two on that mountain in the Marhauts, right? Our oversight back then could have gotten Princess Elincia killed.”

“Fair point. Go with them.”

Ranulf ran after Mia, whistling to Lethe and another cat laguz on the way.

Ike started moving again. Soren would have met him halfway if he could have left the wall without falling over. A moment later, a Crimean soldier ran into the room. “Sir!” she called and Ike stopped again. “Sir, the enemy troops are fleeing!” she reported. “Shall we give chase?”

“No, let them run.” Ike shook his head. “We fought enough today. Get our people inside the fort and give everyone a break.”

“Yes, sir!” The soldier looked relieved as she saluted and ran back the way she’d come.

Titania appeared a moment later, riding her charger straight into the hall. Its hooves clattered to a halt over the stone floor, and her eyes lit up when she saw Ike. She dismounted in an instant. “Ike, is the general dead?”

“He’s been defeated,” was Ike’s answer. Soren glanced at where Mordecai was carrying the Rider’s limp body out of the room. Bastian had bound the unconscious man’s hands and was now holding a side door open for them.

When he looked back, he saw Titania’s relieved smile. “Then our victory is confirmed.”

“Find uninjured riders and have them scout the path back to basecamp,” Ike ordered in response, “When it’s secure, I want everything packed up and moved here. If King Tibarn has returned, ask that he fly here ahead of the rest. I would like to know how he fared at Nados.” Saluting, Titania remounted her stallion and was soon gone.

Ike finally reached Soren. “Your knee?” he asked, glancing at the damage.

“Nothing permanent,” he assured. “Your arms?”

Ike assessed the blisters covering his hands. “Hardly noticed,” he said, and Soren was fairly sure that was a lie. “I’m going to check how things are wrapping up outside. Find me when you’re-”

“No, you’re not!” Mist scolded him from behind. “You’re bleeding.”

Ike wiped some blood away from a cut on his cheek, as if to check the amount, but it just mixed with the blood oozing from the sores on his hands. That was far from his worse injury, however. Now that he raised his arm, a wave of blood pumped down his side from a cut under his shoulder joint. Soren wondered if Ike wasn’t lying after all and had honestly ceased noticing these things. They’d been at war too long.

“Sit down a moment,” Mist ordered. “You too, Soren.”

He obeyed only when Ike did. Elincia came over and knelt beside the young general. “Please, my lord Ike, allow me to close these wounds for you.”

Ike blushed and nodded. As she attended the laceration under his shoulder, the one on his face, and several other cuts and burns, her delicate yet capable fingers traipsed across his skin, exploring the wounds through the holes in his clothing and around the edges of his armor. In an ideal environment, Ike would strip down for her so she could analyze the wounds more thoroughly before healing them. The thought made Soren irrationally angry. While she worked, Ike seemed to be trying to ignore her, focusing instead on removing his gauntlets whose clasps had been fused by the light magic. In the end he just cut the straps, and Elincia consoled him, saying he could order new ones from Muston in the morning. Soren hated how close her mouth was to his shoulder as she said it.

Meanwhile, Mist was attending Soren’s broken knee, and he trusted her to do a good enough job that he wouldn’t have a limp for the rest of his life. He didn’t pay much attention to the process.

When the princess and cleric finally cleared them for duty, Ike and Soren hurried to tackle the many responsibilities that always faced them after a battle, especially a siege. Triage camps were replaced with infirmaries, and food, water, and other supplies were distributed among the recovering troops. The dead were removed from the fort, although no one had the energy to burn or bury the bodies until tomorrow. The surviving Daeins were locked into the dungeons, and the few soldiers uninjured enough to stand guard took the first shift.

That being said, no one was truly uninjured; their wounds just had varying levels of severity. The degree of blood loss each soldier had suffered could be directly correlated to their recovery time and their ability to walk around, stand at attention, or (if they were lucky) lift heavy objects.

When Ike and Soren visited the infirmary, the Begnion and Crimean bishops and clerics warned they would soon be dangerously low on staves, vulneraries, and other medical supplies. Ike told them to use what they had, and that he would find a way to acquire more before Melior. From here, Ike and Soren split up to cover more ground.

On one of his rounds, Soren made his way to the upper levels of the fort and stepped onto the eastern trebuchet landing. The engineer’s body was still pierced into the wooden frame with pike, and Soren marveled at the number of lives this man had taken alone. From here he had a good view of the battlefield and even the baileys below. The last glow of fading daylight barely illuminated the sea of death, but he could see enough. Although the majority of the bodies wore black armor, he couldn’t ignore the swaths of red, white, and brown where Begnion, Crimean, and Gallian forces had died in droves. This had been a costly battle.

Spotting Tibarn and an entourage of hawks flying toward the fort, he left his vantage point and rushed to the southern gate to meet them. Ike was already there. “Ah, well met,” was the Hawk King’s greeting to them both. “From the looks of things, the battle ended in our favor.”

A large pile of Daein corpses was growing beside them, as additional bodies were exhumed from the fort. Soren moved his gaze to the field beyond. Although no one had the strength to build pyres or dig ditches now, many stumbled around, looking for survivors. Every once in a while, the not-yet-dead would release a scream or a moan. If it was a member of the Liberation Army, they were carried to the infirmary. If it was a Daein, they were ignored, taken into custody, or quickly silenced.

“We claimed victory,” Ike finally answered. “Yet Daein had more troops than we expected, and it was a hard-fought battle.”

“I don’t have the best news to report, either,” Tibarn sighed. Soren returned his attention to the Hawk King.

“What is it?” Ike asked warily.

“As the day ended, we withdrew as planned,” he reported. “But as we were leaving, reinforcements began flooding in from the capital.”

“That is bad news,” Ike agreed.

“There’s more.” Tibarn warned. “The men originally guarding the castle were nothing special, but there was one who appeared mid-battle and crushed an entire phalanx of Gallians himself. He was so much stronger than the others, it was as if a wolf had appeared in a kennel of blind, newborn pups.”

“What did he look like?” Ike demanded, suddenly grave.

“He was covered from toe to tip in black armor. That made it difficult to judge his size, but I think he was bigger than me.” Tibarn held a hand above his head to show how incredible that was. “If my intuition’s right, he is the villain you’ve all been talking about.”

“The Black Knight,” Ike cursed. “He’s in that castle!” The fire in his eyes made Soren fear he would charge off this very second, running north alone until he reached Castle Nados, where he would bang on the door until the Black Knight answered.

“We will have to face him and the garrison at Nados,” Soren said evenly. “But not today.”

Ike’s fire seemed to burn down a bit. He turned and stalked off, mumbling something about making himself useful. If he realized he was being rude to King Phoenicis by walking away, he didn’t care.

Tibarn looked amused. “Impassioned young man you have there,” he said, rubbing his chin.

Soren didn’t like Tibarn, who had called him a child previously and now seemed to belittle Ike. “I am needed elsewhere,” he replied and left just as abruptly. Unlike Ike, he knew he was being rude, but he preferred it that way.

A few hours later, Soren found a room to sleep in and surrendered to much-needed oblivion. He only awoke when he heard a knock. Someone had found him, and he knew it was Ike even before he opened the door. The young general was clearly exhausted. “Oh, I heard you were here. Did I wake you?”

“No,” Soren lied. “Have you slept?”

“Since the day before yesterday?” was his attempt at a lighthearted answer.

“Take this room,” he said firmly. “I’ll cover for you.”

Ike seemed grateful (yet apologetic), and he did as instructed. “Just for a couple hours,” he murmured, and Soren closed the door behind him.

He waited outside until he was certain Ike had fallen asleep. Then he found the first face he recognized (which happened to be Rolf) and commanded he guard the door and not allow anyone to bother the commander. Rolf saluted, but his smile was just a shadow. Although Soren had seen him in the infirmary earlier and knew he’d gotten some rest, the boy still looked tired and heartsore. Somehow that didn’t stop him standing straight against the wall with his bow strung at his side. 

Soren settled disputes while Titania calmed tensions. She’d slept earlier in the evening and so was about as rested as he was. Eventually the sun rose, and Soren arranged corpse disposal efforts while Rhys and the bishops arranged prayers and last rites.

By the time the sun was blazing brightly in the sky, the first pyres were smoking, and the first row of graves was being filled in. The battlefield was even more grotesque in the daylight, and there was evidence of rodents having nibbled on the bodies in the night. Now crows and vultures were having their way.

When he reentered the fort, Titania approached him. “Where’s Ike?” she asked.

“Still resting. What news?”

“No movement from Daein. We’re safe here for now, but the storerooms weren’t as well-stocked as we assumed. We might have been able to starve out the garrison after all...”

“And now we are the ones who will starve?” he replied dryly. But then he shook his head. “We can requisition more food and supplies from the townsfolk. For now we must continue rationing what we have.”

Titania sighed. “The troops won’t be happy.”

“They will manage.” He changed the subject. “Do we have a final casualty count?”

“Over two thousand of our own dead, and over a hundred too injured to continue fighting,” she reported in a sad voice. “But we estimate over eight-thousand Daeins dead. We expect two thousand retreated to Melior and four thousand to Castle Nados. We have just shy of a thousand in our dungeons… The cells are packed, and we have to feed them too.” 

Soren nodded. “Those who moved to Nados will prepare the Black Knight with intelligence on our units and tactics.”

“I know,” Titania agreed grimly. She hesitated a moment and then continued: “We sent five riders to Castle Nados to better estimate their reinforced numbers. Only one returned, and he was in poor shape.”

“Why weren’t Janaff and Ulki sent?” Soren demanded. It had long been their strategy to use the two hawk laguz as scouts since they could see and hear far distances without getting in range of enemy attacks.

Titania shook her head. “They were still injured from the battle,” she admitted. “We were impatient for reports.”

“It matters not,” he said with a wave of his hand.

“There’s more…”

“More good news?”

She shook her head. “According to Bastian, General Bertram awoke and strangled himself to death with his bonds.”

“That is…odd.”

“It appears the man was completely deranged.”

“His defensive strategies cost us over a sixth of our army,” Soren shot back. “No matter how he seemed, he must have known what he was doing.” Although he didn’t care if Bertram lived or died, Ike had wanted him to live. No matter if his reasons were moral or strategic, he wouldn’t be happy when he heard the news. He would blame himself for not assigning a closer guard. And he wouldn’t be able to ask Bertram anything about the Black Knight, which Soren had little doubt Ike had intended to do. Rather than voicing these thoughts, however, he asked: “Anything else to report?”

“Some of the captains are wondering how long we’ll be staying here.”

“I assume they are not eager to march on Nados?” Soren ventured a guess.

Titania nodded. “Rumors about Ike and the Black Knight have run rampant, and by now most troops have heard the Black Knight is at Castle Nados. They whisper that their general will order them to march as early as tomorrow morning. Their nerves are fried, and they fear they will be ordered to their deaths.” She sighed. “Despite this victory, morale is low.”

Soren took a moment to digest this. “We must have faith in Ike. We all need time to recover, including him.”

“I would like to wake him so he can speak to the troops, and I should give him this report as well.” 

Soren agreed and gave away the location of the room in which the young general was sleeping. It felt like a betrayal, but a necessary one. There were some things only Ike could do.

The Crimea Liberation Army recuperated at Fort Pinell for only two days, and on the third they marched on Castle Nados. Most of the troops were still weary, but now that their friends had been buried and they’d been able to sleep, Ike stoked their desire for vengeance against Daein. He reminded them that Pinell had been a victory, and they were one step closer to ending this war for good.

Leaving a small garrison with the convoy at Pinell, the majority of the army marched across the plain to Nados. According to Phoenician scouts, the Black Knight commanded an army that now exceeded Bertram’s by a thousand fresh cavalry, thanks the most recent reinforcements from Melior. That meant the garrison forces almost doubled the Liberation Army, and Soren was not feeling particularly optimistic.

But they had no choice but to lay siege. They couldn’t march on Melior with the Black Knight’s army at their back, and the dark god was closer to freedom each day (as Ike and Reyson kept reminding everyone).

“The Black Knight’s in that castle, isn’t he?” Titania peeked around the tent flap at the vast hilltop fort. Dracoknights flew above it in a swarm, and a regiment of cavalry and infantry had been deployed at the base of the hill. But these external forces were far fewer than they’d faced at Pinell. Clearly the Black Knight’s strategy differed from Bertram’s, and Soren suspected traps inside the castle in addition to the many troops.

“There’s little doubt of it,” Ike replied. He and Titania shared the same grim expression and the same determination for revenge.

The rest of the army’s leadership remained politely silent. They were on the eve of battle, and no one was going to question Ike’s priorities now. This strategy tent, a few infirmary tents, and a couple supply depots had been erected within view of the castle to give soldiers a place to wait until it was their turn to attack, as well as a place to retreat to as the battle wore on. The troops were assembled outside now, awaiting their final orders.

“That beorc’s a real handful,” Ranulf eventually said. “Even when I attacked him in cat form, I barely scratched him!” He sounded impressed, not sharing Ike’s hatred.

“It’s his armor. It’s supposedly blessed by the goddess,” Ike explained. “Ordinary weapons, natural or not, can’t damage it.”

“Oh, that’s just swell,” Ranulf moaned. “So how are we supposed to defeat him? Angry looks?”

“Leave that to me. I’ve got a sword that should be effective against him.” Ike tapped Ragnell’s hilt, which was one of three swords he wore today. It was the largest and most deadly-looking of the bunch, making the others seem superfluous.

Everyone was looking to Tibarn now. As a laguz king, he was the strongest fighter among them. “I don’t like it—” he crossed his arms “—but I suppose there’s no choice. We don’t use weapons or shields. Those are beorc tools for beorc alone.”

“Very well, if the villain in question appears, we shall leave him to General Ike.” Bastian bowed with a flourish of his cloak sleeves. “Now then, shall we determine who among us storms the castle?”

Just then, Mist poked her head around the tent flap. “Ike,” she said timidly, “Can I talk to you?”

“Not right now, Mist. We’re discussing battle strategy.”

“I know that. Even so…” She moved fully into the entrance. “Please? It’ll only take a moment.”

“Mist…” Ike clearly wanted to go to her, but he resisted. “I promise I’ll make time later. Be patient and wait quietly.”

Elincia began making faint moans of distress.

“What is it, O beauteous one?” Bastian pranced to her side.

“I feel…a bit dizzy. May I rest a moment?”

“Oh, what foul deed is this that rears its head? The gods of war do charge a heavy toll. Bewitch us, and attack our very minds! The Princess, she is faint and o’er tired. Forgive your humble servant this trespass.” Bastian slipped one hand around the small of her back and the other into hers, as if they were dancing. “Hark, my dear, and bless me with your arm. Good folk, we shall retire for a spell.”

“Of course, Princess.” Geoffrey stood rigidly and saluted as she and Bastian passed. “Please rest and allow us to proceed with these preparations.”

“Th-thank you. I’m sorry,” Elincia said weakly. She inclined her head respectfully to Tibarn before departing.

Ike followed them out and gestured for Mist to come with him.

Elincia’s dizzy spell was obviously a ruse to give Ike time with his sister. Her heart may have been in the right place, but clearly her mind wasn’t. They were waiting at the edge of battle; there was no time for this. Even without Ike, Elincia, and Bastian, plans needed to be finalized.

“We have previously decided that our aerial units, led by King Tibarn, should engage the dracoknights above. Princess Elincia and Prince Reyson will be under his guard. Meanwhile our cavalry, led by Captain Geoffrey, will clear a path to the fort and make safe the entrance,” Soren announced evenly. “Count Bastian and Lady Lucia’s unit will then proceed under the cover of mantelets to seize the gate.” Everyone nodded in agreement. “Without knowing what awaits us inside, I recommend we enter in small, controlled waves, each five minutes apart and consisting of no more than fifty each. Any trap or ambush awaiting us will not befall the entire army. That being said, the first wave will have to be larger to avoid being immediately wiped out. I judge a vanguard of five hundred would be sufficient. When Ike signals that the castle is at a tipping point, however many troops remain may enter at once.”

“Gallian soldiers have never attack so timidly,” Ranulf said reluctantly, “They won’t like this…but they will adapt when ordered to.”

“I also agree,” Lucia added. “A good swordswoman knows when patience and caution are her allies, and I believe they are now.”

“I will take the skies,” Tibarn said simply. “I leave the rest to you all.”

“If Ike supports this plan,” Titania said with her fist over hear heart. “Then it has my full support as well.”

“I too see no fault in this plan,” Reyson said.

“Let us not waste any more time and divide the army into the ‘waves’ as you said,” Tanith proposed. The task was complete by the time Ike and Elincia returned. When they did, they too approved the plan. Ike did so with the condition that he lead the vanguard, and Soren made sure he was also a member.

Tibarn’s and Geoffrey’s regiments charged first. When Ike could see through his spyglass that Geoffrey’s troops had cleared the field, he gave the order for Bastian and Lucia to move out. Their sure-footed troops surged up the hill, pushing a battering ram between them and rolling mantelets ahead to guard from the archers on the wall. Once the gate was thoroughly smashed, a wave of Daein soldiers flooded out. While Geoffrey and Lucia’s troops fended them off, Ike turned to his own troops and wasted no time ordering the advance: “Is everyone ready?” he asked. “The castle’s strength has been bolstered with reinforcements from the capital! We must strike now before any more can arrive. If the Black Knight appears, don’t try to engage him. He’s mine!”

The vanguard charged up the hill, past the cavalry still in mid-battle and Lucia’s infantry guarding the castle’s gaping entrance. Their footsteps crashed over the splintered wood and rent metal, to where ranks of Daein soldiers awaited them on the other side.

Nados’s architecture was more ornate than Pinell’s. The halls were larger, the staircases wider, the towers more numerous, and the corridors more circuitous. There was also a complex system of servants’ passages to watch out for. This was because, in addition to being a well-fortified bastion of Melior’s defense, it was also a vacation home for nobles and a place to host foreign dignitaries away from the hustle and bustle of Melior. That being said, there were no art exhibitions, colorful tapestries, plush rugs, or other fine things as they’d found in Tanas Manor. Daein had been occupying this fort for two years, and the interior now resembled a large military barracks. The stained-glass windows looked preposterously out of place, but, the carved pillars did make excellent cover.

The battle was long and arduous. After taking the front courtyard, Ike led them deeper into the castle. He was anxious to meet the Black Knight, but Soren whispered constant reminders of restraint. They progressed slowly and carefully, never pulling too far ahead of the team behind them.

Soren’s timidity was justified. They’d barely stepped indoors before Daein started springing traps. The garrison forces locked doors behind them or blocked them with toppled pillars. They collapsed ceilings, caved in floors, and released volleys of arrows through fake walls. Clearly they’d had ample time to redesign the castle’s entire interior. They set fire to oiled halls, released spiked balls from the ceilings, and sent spies scurrying through servants’ corridors. Battles were pitched in the ballrooms and dining halls, and the Liberation Army forces were always outnumbered.

But Soren’s wave strategy meant that there was always another group of soldiers coming to dig out the trapped ones and rescue whoever they could. Many died, but they pressed on.

The hours spent in the giant trap of Castle Nados seemed endless. There was little rest to be had, and it was reserved only for bouts of healing. When a soldier or mercenary was well enough to fight again, they fought again. There was no time to recover the waning strength of one’s body or the fraying fabric of one’s mind. 

But none of this was new to Soren. This was the kind of battle he’d grown accustomed to since the war had begun. Long in the past were the days when the mercenaries could afford to leave Rhys behind when he wasn’t feeling well, when they could fight with little risk of serious injury. Now were the days of struggling to fight even though he felt more like a walking corpse than a man. These were the days when some soldiers resented their healers for not allowing them to die. Soren saw others reject healing because their bodies no longer remembered how to be whole. But not him—not yet. He still had his sanity. Battle was torture, but it was survivable.

Eventually Soren determined that it was time for a full attack, and Ike concurred. He made his way to a balcony and bellowed down to his troops with the new orders. The signal was relayed all the way back to basecamp, and with one final push, the entire Liberation Army swept into the castle. By now most of the traps had been triggered, and all that was left was to defeat the garrison in a straight fight.

Soren, Ike, and the others finally located the commander, but when they entered the foyer where he was stationed, Ike was clearly disappointed to see it was not the Black Knight. (Soren, on the other hand, was relieved). That being said, this commander seemed to be guarding a door leading deeper into the castle. The Black Knight could be beyond.

Ike stepped forward while the commander’s guard tightened around him. “Hey! Where is the real general in charge here?”

He ignored the question and hefted his spear. “If not for a whim of His Majesty, I would not be facing you today. For a warrior, meeting a powerful foe is a joy above all others.” He inclined his head as if acknowledging Ike as a worthy opponent, but it was a joyless gesture. “And for this, I give thanks to the King! Now, let us enjoy the gift we have been given.” He widened his stance and raised his spear higher.

Ike took another step closer. “Is the Black Knight here?”

“Yes.”

“Step aside. I have business with him.”

“Aha…” The enemy commander smiled. “It would seem you and Sir Knight have some connection! My curiosity is piqued, but…” He twirled his spear over his head. “Before you reach him, you must first vanquish me!”

“Then prepare to be vanquished!” Ike raised his sword and quickened his steps. Soren and the others surged forward to blow a hole in Daein’s defense and make way for him. He vaulted over the broken line and dashed up to the commander.

Soren chanted as fast as he could, and he felt his heart beating faster too. Winds whipped around him, caught in the frenzy of his panic. They twisted in circles, spinning from one soldier to the next. The Black Knight was close, and Ike was about to fight him. He had the appropriate sword this time; the Knight wouldn’t let him go. Ike had to win.

If he lost, Soren told himself he would get him to safety. He wouldn’t let the Black Knight end his life. Revenge for Greil, war for Elincia, validation of Ike’s own strength—none of that mattered. None of it was worth the cost. But even while he thought these things, he felt powerless. He wasn’t strong enough to carry Ike from this castle, and if his magic broke on the Black Knight like a spray of water on rock, what could he possibly accomplish?

He was stunned when there were no more enemies to attack. It seemed this battle had ended too quickly, but no Daeins were left standing so Soren let the winds waver into stillness. The mercenaries stood around the room, staring at Ike, who had just turned to the fateful door. It hadn’t budged during the fight. If the Black Knight was truly in there, he was ignoring them.

Rhys was at Ike’s side, healing his wounds, but Ike didn’t even look at him. He had Ragnell drawn, and it was already wet with the commander’s blood. Everyone else started sheathing their weapons and relaxing their shoulders. But Soren refused. He gripped his tome even more tightly, ignoring the blood running down his arms. His heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Once Ike was fully mended, Rhys ducked contritely away and the young general finally tore his eyes from the door. He turned to face the men and women who’d chosen to follow him to this place. “The one I seek is behind these doors,” he announced. “Don’t follow me. I’m going in alone.” Without another word, he turned—his cape cracking with the sharpness of the movement—and pushed open the heavy door.

“Ike!” Soren called out. “Wait! I’m going with-” He couldn’t make it two steps before someone grabbed both his arms from behind.

“No, Soren,” Titania hissed as he struggled against her grip. “We have to let Ike go alone. The Black Knight is his. Defeating him is a crucial step he must take to truly get over the death of his father.”

“ _Idiocy!_ ” Soren spat. But she wouldn’t release him, and she was much stronger. “I’ll hear no more of this naïve nonsense! What if something happens to him? What then?”

The answer was obvious. The Crimean army would lose its general, and no replacement would command the respect of both the laguz and beorc soldiers. The war would be forfeit. The mercenaries would lose their commander and disband. Soren would lose his only friend and be forced to travel alone again, this time forever. Ike wouldn’t exist in this world anymore, and it would become a darker, more horrid place without him.

“I think…” Titania finally said. Her voice was soft, and she let go of his arms. “Ike has gained the composure to keep calm and judge whether or not he can match an opponent. If, in fact, he can’t make that judgment…it means he’s reached his full potential, and that’s all there is to him. We just have to accept that. But I believe in Ike. I trust him. His life is not his alone any longer. I don’t believe he’s so irresponsible as to leave his companions behind by choosing to engage in a contest he cannot win. Please, Soren, you must feel the same way, don’t you?”

Although she’d released him moments ago, he hadn’t raced after Ike. And he remained immobile now, staring at the door that had swallowed his friend. But eventually he had to give in, and his head slumped. Titania’s words aside, the truth of the matter was that Ike had heard him call out and hadn’t turned back or said a thing. Ike didn’t want him there. “I don’t like it,” he said, “Sometimes bravery and good judgment aren’t enough.”

“Commander Greil…” Titania breathed, “watch over your son.”

Just then, Mist raced past them both. Titania lunged for her, and others reached to grab her, but she was fast and agile and perhaps no one really wanted to stop her. She heaved the door open and slipped in before anyone could give a coherent warning.

“Do we go after her?” Ranulf asked uncertainly.

“No,” was Titania’s answer.

Elincia strode into the room, and she must have seen what had just happened, because she was nodding in approval. “She has as much reason to be in there as Ike. And if she can help him, all the better.”

Soren moved to the wall beside the door, closed his eyes, and concentrated on the room beyond. He could barely detect Ike and Mist with his Branded sense, but they were both alive. Determining that they must be on the far end of a long hall, he monitored the ghosts of their presence as best he could.

The cut on his forearm had soaked his sleeve and was dripping down his fingers, but he didn’t move from the spot. And he wasn’t the only one remaining frozen in time, staring at the door. He might have had more insight into what was going on the other side, but that didn’t make him feel any more confident.

The minutes ticked by—until the floor shook. Dust cascaded from the ceiling, and a terrible screech rent the air. This was followed but a long, rumbling sound like a blazing fire, but much louder.

“What was that!” Tormod yelped.

“Find cover!” Tauroneo bellowed.

“No, evacuate!” countered Elincia when a second shudder hit the room.

The roars continued, and soldiers and mercenaries threw their hands over their ears to muffle the paralyzing sound. To Soren, these were the same cries he’d heard that morning in the Melior Royal Library, and he feared the Mad King had come to them.

“Everyone out!” Titania screamed, seeming to agree with Elincia. “This castle is coming down!” Everyone ran to the nearest exit, except for three who ran in the other direction; Soren, Titania, and Ranulf ran into the room the shrieks were coming from—to Ike and Mist.

Upon opening the door, the first thing he saw was Ike and Mist running toward them. A third, slender figure was thrown over Ike’s shoulder. Behind the fleeing siblings, amid a cloud of dust and falling rubble, Soren caught sight of black armor and the flash of a sword. But even more attention-seizing was the massive white dragon standing in the room. Standing thirty feet tall, its claws had plowed deep craters in the floor, and its horns scratched the ceiling. It swept its tail at the Black Knight and took down two pillars with the blow. It opened its maw, releasing a jet of blue flame. However, it struck nowhere near the Black Knight, instead blasting a hole in the opposite wall, shattering all the windows with the reverberation. Whoever they were, this dragon seemed intent on destroying the entire castle along with the Black Knight.

He couldn’t linger to see more. Titania was pulling him and screaming for him to run. Ranulf changed into his cat form, and Mist jumped onto his back. Ike outpaced him, and Soren saw the face of the one he carried: General Ena, the Goldoan. Soren couldn’t imagine what had happened in Ike’s duel with the Black Knight or how these dragons had become involved, but Ike was alive and that thought pushed his legs to run faster.


	15. CHAPTER 46: GRITNEA TOWER

The shaking wouldn’t stop. Collapses echoed one after another, and waves of stone dust billowed out of doorways Ranulf told them not to pass through at the last second. The cat’s keen nose led them toward fresh air and out of the building, but only barely. The central structure had already caved in behind them, and walls were still crumbling, sliding, and falling all over the castle. Just when it seemed to be over, another section collapsed. 

When they were finally out, they staggered away coughing. The dust had formed a massive cloud, and it was impossible for Soren to see more than a couple feet in front of his face. But on instinct, he and Ranulf led the others down the hill toward the camp. The dust wasn’t blowing in this direction, so their vision had cleared by the time they arrived.

Soren glanced over his shoulder at the wreckage, and although he could hardly see what remained, he knew Nados was gone. There would be no repairing this. The Daeins had weakened the structure with their traps, and the dragon had sabotaged it from the center. Soren wondered how many from both the Daein Army and the Liberation Army had died inside.

“I want a headcount as soon as possible!” Ike coughed and shook the stone dust from his hair. “I want to know how many made it out. And I want search parties to look for survivors,” he ordered while striding purposefully toward the main infirmary tent.

When they arrived, he laid Ena on a cot and Mist set to work checking her pulse and examining the wound in her chest. It looked to Soren as if a large blade had dipped in and out, puncturing her right lung. If it had been on the left, she would have died instantly. Whoever did this had wanted her to suffer (or, Soren thought, perhaps they’d wanted to give her a chance to be saved).

“What happened to her?” asked Mist.

“What happened to the Black Knight?” asked Titania.

Ike answered while staring intently at the wounded dragon. “When I entered the room, Ena was on the floor and the Black Knight was standing over her, his blade wet with her blood…” He shook his head in either anger or frustration, Soren couldn’t tell. “I fought him. I held my own against him, and Mist healed me from behind.” He paused a moment and addressed his sister alone, “Thanks for coming, Mist. You didn’t have to-”

“Yes, I did.” Her eyes were closed tight in concentration as she held her staff over Ena’s chest.

“Right…” Ike continued, “Anyway, some reinforcements came in, but the Black Knight told them not to engage me. So they went after Mist.” His voice was clearly angry now. “We fought them together; there weren’t many. But the Black Knight didn’t appreciate that I’d turned my back on him. He got the drop on me...”

Soren suddenly noticed the long slit on Ike’s back. The Black Knight had struck him from behind, cutting through his cape, leather armor, chainmail, shirt, and flesh in a single slice. A stretch of angry red skin and a long, rope-like scar was barely visible beyond the slit, and Soren realized it was thanks to Ike’s blind luck rather than Mist’s hasty healing that he hadn’t been paralyzed or killed. Bile rose in Soren’s throat at the thought of what he’d almost lost. Titania and Ranulf were staring at it too, and their faces revealed they were thinking the same thing.

“…I fought back,” Ike continued, “and gave the Black Knight some damage he wouldn’t soon forget. But even so… I don’t know if I would have been able to defeat him if Nasir hadn’t appeared.”

“That white dragon was Nasir?” Titania gasped.

Ike nodded. “He told me to grab Ena and Mist and get out. It became pretty clear he was going to destroy the place to defeat the Black Knight, so I did what he said. You know the rest.”

Ranulf closed his eyes as if in mourning. “Nasir’s motivations were a mystery to the end,” he whispered.

“You’re sure he’s dead?” Ike asked.

Ranulf twitched his ears. “I suppose our search parties will answer that question, but he was at the epicenter of the collapse… Once that hall caved in behind us, I didn’t hear anyone struggling out of the rubble—dragon or otherwise.”

“Then the Black Knight is truly defeated as well?” Titania asked.

“It would seem so,” was Ranulf’s response.

“I am sorry you couldn’t be the one…” she told Ike lamely.

He shrugged as if to say it didn’t bother him, but the gesture was unconvincing. “It only matters that it is done.”

“She is stable,” Mist interrupted, feeling Ena’s pulse and temperature.

“Shackle her to the cot and assign a guard,” Ike ordered Titania. “I want to know the moment she wakes up.”

Titania bowed her head. “Right away.”

Next he turned to Mist. “See to the injured, but get some rest as soon as you can.” He spoke more softly than when he’d spoken to Titania, but it was still an order. Ranulf was the next to receive a command: “Join the search of the ruins and return to me with a report. Bring some laguz to move the larger rubble, but don’t stray farther than is safe.” Ranulf saluted. Ike seemed to think for a moment, adding: “Bring Largo too.”

“As good as two tigers, right?” Ranulf joked.

“So they say.”

Ranulf saluted again, this time with a smile.

“Soren.” Ike turned to him. “I’m going to check on casualties. You should coordinate our move back to Fort Pinell. And while you are at it, put your mind to the question of how we might increase our numbers in time for the final battle… I don’t know how many we lost today, but I know it was too many. Pinell too.”

“I will find a solution,” Soren promised, surprised by his friend’s foresight.

After getting cleaned up, having a bite to eat, and drinking his fill (an affair that took no more than ten minutes) Soren met with the necessary lieutenants to get the supplies packed up and the army crawling back to Pinell. Once this was underway, Soren searched for Lucia, Geoffrey, Bastian, or Elincia—any of the four would do. He found the Delbray twins first. They were taking a meal in the strategy tent, perhaps trying to find a moment of peace before heading out. Since the strategy tent was always the last to be dismantled, it was a good place to lie low.

“After the casualties suffered today,” Soren began, “Ike has decided we need more men. We do not have time to waste awaiting reinforcements from Gallia or the Begnion army in Daein. They must come from Crimea.”

Lucia swallowed the hunk of bread she’d been chewing and gestured for Soren to sit with them. He did. “What do you propose we do?” Lucia asked, sounding tired.

“The surviving Royal Knights have already assimilated with the Crimea Liberation Army,” Geoffrey added. “If there were more left free and alive, they would be here.”

“I think not,” Soren replied bluntly. “Knights, soldiers, and militiamen are no more immune to cowardice than anyone else. When this war began, many Royal Knights undoubtedly fled their stations and have been hiding since. I am equally certain many soldiers and registered militiamen chose to hide their armor under hay rather than don it and fight for their doomed country.”

Geoffrey and Lucia wore matching scowls, but they said nothing.

Soren continued: “When Ike freed the prisoners at Canteus Castle, only three—two militia and one knight—decided to join the Greil Mercenaries and defend the princess. The rest returned home to wait out the war. These cowards are the ones we need now—a secret force waiting to be roused.”

“If you think so little of them,” Lucia snarled, “why do you wish to call on them?”

“Because there is no one else,” Soren said flatly. “And even cowards can be inspired to moments of rash bravery if whispered the right words.”

“And what words will those be?” Geoffrey’s voice was masked.

“I haven’t a clue,” Soren replied honestly. “But the important thing is that they come from your and Elincia’s mouths. Convince them they will be valued soldiers, not pin cushions for Daein arrows. Convince them honor or glory awaits. Convince them the road to Pinell will be safe.”

“How will we get this word out?” Lucia asked skeptically. “We haven’t enough riders.”

“Rumors travel faster than men, and in all directions at once,” was Soren’s reply.

“Daein will hear these rumors as well,” Geoffrey pointed out.

“Yes, and they will accost people on the roads without warning or provocation. They will loot farms in search of hidden weapons and armor. Crimean nationalists and sympathizers will be beaten and even killed.” Soren paused a moment to let that sink in. “But enough men and women will make it to Pinell to be worth the cost.”

The twins took a moment to digest this, but Lucia was the first to come to a decision: “I will speak to Elincia. I have little doubt she will agree if I support the plan. Geoffrey?”

“I agree as well.” He nodded. “We will visit the nearest towns and spread the word. Seeing the Princess herself, the people will be most inspired.”

“Good,” Soren said without inflection. “Considering our victories the past few days, there is a high likelihood Ashnard will send soldiers into the nearest towns to assault the townsfolk and burn their houses. He will do this to draw us out, cut off our food supply, and destabilized our support among the common folk. But we will be unable to spare many men. When you visit the towns, I recommend you bring weapons and armor. Strip them from Daein corpses to avoid expense. You should distribute these among the citizenry if they are to survive.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” Lucia said sharply. It wasn’t a compliment.

Soren pretended not to hear her. Instead he said, “Remember, you have only two weeks,” and departed. He had accomplished his mission. Now he would report to Ike and (barring any additional tasks assigned to him) join the train back to Pinell and finally have some rest.

Soren found Ike standing on the hill, in front of a breach in the wall, staring at the wreck of a tower whose falling had blown open this hole. The dust cloud had lifted, and the sun was low in the sky, turning the disjointed pile of stone into a nest of shadows. Ike began pacing, stopped, stared, and started again. “What’s wrong?” Soren asked when he reached him.

“Nasir and the Black Knight are in there somewhere, but there’s no way to get to them.”

“Their bodies,” Soren reminded. “According to rescue teams’ assessments, it is impossible for anyone to have survived at the center of the structure. They are dead. It is over.” He had to admit he was disappointed Nasir had died before he’d been able to understand him, and he supposed he could understand Ike’s disappointment that the Black Knight had died by another’s hand. But there was nothing either of them could do but move on.

“I know,” Ike sighed, as if reading his mind. “I just… I wanted to get under that mask. I wanted to see the face of the man who killed my father.”

“The helmet was his face,” Soren proposed softly. “It was the face he chose. A better representation of the man inside than the random set of features he was born with, don’t you think?”

“Is that how you feel?” Ike asked, quietly and spontaneously.

Soren was so surprised he wasn’t sure he’d heard him right. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Ike shook his head. “Anyway, Ena woke up.”

“What did she say?” Soren asked, eager to change the subject.

Ike started walking down the hill, and Soren fell in step beside him. “For her failure in Nevassa, Ashnard ordered the Black Knight to kill her. She says she’s Nasir’s granddaughter and that is why he came to save her.”

Soren waited for Ike to continue, certain there was more information.

“You’re not surprised?”

“I’ve heard about the long lives of the dragons,” Soren replied coolly.

“Oh,” Ike continued, “well, Ena has also offered us information in return for saving her life: the location of Princess Leanne.”

“And you trust her?”

“I do.”

Soren considered this a moment, but he was willing to suspend judgment on the dragon general. “So where are we headed?”

Ike chuckled. “Plans later. Rest first, my friend. We all need it.” Soren was glad to see the burden of the Black Knight seemed to have rolled off his shoulders, at least for now.

Back at Fort Pinell they slept, healed, and roved sluggishly throughout the next day. Those who couldn’t sleep mourned their dead comrades, returned to Nados to search the ruins, or were busy digging a vast graveyard between Pinell and Nados. Elincia blessed their efforts and vowed to have a monument built when the war was over. Those not digging ditches patrolled a five mile’s radius around the fort or visited nearby towns begging for supplies and recruits. Soren, fortunately, was one of the ones who could sleep. And he did so, deeply.

Ilyana woke him in the early afternoon with a tap on his door. “A war council is about to begin. General Ike requests your presence,” was her announcement, after which her stomach gurgled. “Do you have any food?”

“We are on half rations for now. If you’ve already had yours, you will just have to wait.”

Ilyana frowned. “Calill doesn’t eat much,” she mused. “Maybe she will share.” With that she drifted away.

Closing the door again, Soren donned his robes and boots and strapped on the belt and green sash he wore around his tunic. In the past few weeks, he’d added more holes to the belt, and he now tightened it to the last one. He could ignore hunger for the most part, and he didn’t mind being a lightweight in battle as long as he could still run fast enough to keep up. But he had to admit he was becoming dangerously skinny, and it wasn’t his problem alone.

The army was just shy of starving, and their malnutrition would be evident in battle if something didn’t change before Melior. Daein had bled the local townships dry, and yet Pinell’s storehouses had been nearly empty when they arrived. Soren could only assume this meant most of the Daein Army’s food and supplies had already been moved south with the invasion troops, and were now far out of reach. The Liberation Army hadn’t been able to salvage any food from Nados either, and rations wouldn’t last long.

Deciding to solve this problem later, Soren hastily brushed and tied back his hair. Then he departed for Pinell’s war room: a windowless chamber in the center of the fort with a large stone table and hefty wooden chairs.

He was glad he wasn’t the last to arrive; Titania was also late. She still had the imprint of her sleeve on her cheek as if she’d just woken up, but she seemed energetic enough.

“Titania, Soren,” Ike began, “Tomorrow at daybreak I’ll be taking a small force south to Gritnea Tower.”

“For what purpose?” Titania asked curiously

“That’s where they’re holding Leanne.”

“Are you certain?” asked Reyson.

“Fairly certain, yes.”

Tibarn didn’t need any more proof. “Alright, then I’ll go with you.”

“As will I,” Reyson seconded. He and the hawk wore expressions of matching intensity.

“Of course,” was Ike’s response.

Soren agreed. As Ike had said, this would have to be a small expedition, but Tibarn and Reyson would be critical members. “And the main army?” he asked. “Have you considered what it must do and who will lead in your absence?”

“Yes, I have.” Ike turned to Elincia beside him. “Princess Elincia, may I count on you?”

“Naturally,” she replied, and she looked composed, confident. She was still wearing the battle crown instead of her old tiara, and instead of a gown, she now wore trousers and a tunic with a long tail. A slim sword hung from her hip. “I will remain here and see to it that preparations for storming the capital continue as planned. However, you must promise to return. And to bring my lady Leanne with you.”

“I hear you.” Ike’s gaze was embedded in hers, as if he were leaving a piece of himself behind in her eyes. It reminded Soren of what he would lose if they managed to win this war, and what Crimea would gain.

Ike selected a group of twenty-five capable warriors for this mission, including Tibarn. Reyson, and himself. The Hawk King would have free reign of the battlefield to move and fight as he saw fit, while the other twenty-four closed in on the tower in careful unison.

To Soren’s surprise, Ike also chose the dragon Ena as a member of the mission party. If she was setting them up for a trap, Soren supposed it was more convincing for her to risk her own life. That being said, if she wasn’t misleading them, she could provide useful information as they got closer or function as a bargaining chip if need be. He encouraged Ike to bring her only as a prisoner, but he refused. He wouldn’t chain her, and he invited her to fight alongside them of her own free will.

Soren realized Ike had already decided she was a friend and therefore would hear no word of caution against her. (Now that Nasir had saved his life, Ike seemed to have no qualms about trust again.)

“That’s Gritnea Tower, right?” Ike asked when the spire appeared above the trees.

“It is,” Ena answered.

“Say, Ike…” Ranulf whispered. “There’s something…really odd about that tower.” He breathed in deeply as if scenting the air. “I mean _really_ odd…”

Ike raised his fist, ordering the party to halt. “What is it?”

Ranulf closed his eyes. “I sense several of the beast tribe, but…what _is_ that?” He sniffed again and shook his head. “ _Ugh!_ Something smells terrible!”

Soren tried to sense it too, but the tower was still beyond his range.

Ena’s spoke in a sad voice. “The tower holds laguz who have been given toxins, foul potions to warp their true shape.”

“Are you talking about the laguz who can’t change forms?” Ike asked. “We first fought some like that in Begnion…”

Ena nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

“Do you know how many and what type they are?” asked Ranulf.

“As far as numbers,” Ena began, “A conservative estimate would be thirty. Types? There are tiger and cats from the beast tribes, hawks and ravens from the bird tribes, and…dragons.”

“There are some from the dragon tribes as well?” Ranulf repeated in disbelief and fear. If he were in cat form, Soren was sure his fur would be standing on end.

“No more than ten,” Ena said, “well…probably no more than ten.”

“We have to fight ten dragons like you?” Ike ran his fingers through his hair.

“They are not like me, Master Ike.” Ena shook her head. “Their madness makes them stronger.”

Ike scowled. “That’s hardly encouraging.”

“Regardless, we must hurry,” Tibarn interceded. “It’s going to be dark soon. It’s rather embarrassing, but we of the bird tribes don’t move well in the dark.” Although the party had set out at dawn, they’d had to ride most of the day to reach the tower.

“Sad but true. Of course, the same can be said for those on the enemy side,” Reyson pointed out.

“On the other hand,” Ranulf countered, “darkness means next to nothing for my kind. Depending on who we face, it could prove to be a significant-”

“There are more of the beast tribe than any other,” Ena cut him off. “It is because we are close to Gallia. Daein buys them from Crimean pirates who pick them up along the coast.” Her voice lacked sympathy.

This seemed to offend Ranulf, who narrowed his eyes. “Listen you,” he hissed. “Are you sure you want to be on our side?”

“Yes, of course,” Ena replied as if she didn’t understand his ire. “That is why I provide accurate information.”

Soren was surprised by the smile he felt tug at his lips. Between Nasir and Ena, it seemed dragon culture was quite unlike the other laguz nations. He doubted any other laguz would have given such a practical answer.

“So once it gets dark, we’re going to be at a disadvantage, right? As long as we know that, we can plan for it,” Ike said optimistically.

“You’re too calm about this for my taste,” Ranulf moaned. He pressed his hands against his head and shook it in despair. “This is going to be a-”

“Enough, Ranulf!” Ike scolded. “We don’t have time for complaints. We need to find the entrance to the tower.” The plan was to fan out and approach the tower from all sides, but Ike wanted to be facing the entrance when he did so. It was his way of leading the charge.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ranulf transformed. “I’m coming.” The pair bounded into the underbrush.

Until they returned, the rest were supposed to lie low. They whispered and kicked stones. They tried to stay quiet. Anticipation for the battle thrummed in their veins, their nerves, the muscles of their twitching fingers.

A Daein scout found them not long after Ike and Ranulf had left. Shinon sent an arrow into the man’s throat, but not before he’d blown his horn in warning. Moments later, a squadron of mages came to investigate, but the mercenaries defeated them easily. Their dead bodies littered the forest floor by the time Ike and Ranulf returned.

“We heard the horn but assumed you had it covered,” Ranulf explained.

“Daein troops and feral laguz are mobilizing around the tower,” Ike reported. He then set about assigning and describing the formation of the assault. Four units of five would attack from all directions simultaneously. A fifth unit would travel between them to offer support and healing. “Move out!” Ike ordered. He, Ranulf, Reyson, and Tormod composed the unit that would take the front.

Soren and the others moved to their positions, and when Tibarn’s piercing shriek signaled the charge, the battle truly began.

As Soren neared the tower, he finally detected the scent Ranulf had been talking about. Pungent, chemical, and sickly, it seemed out of place in the forest. Under Crimea’s rule, Gritnea Tower had been a scholastic temple—a place of science, magic, and meditation far from the prising eyes of society. But Soren suspected Daein had transformed it into something else.

Three cats and a raven raced to meet them, and Soren started casting Wind spells above and Elfire spells below. A chain dangled from the raven’s foot as if it had just been freed, and the cats were already bleeding from small puncture wounds in their flanks as if they’d just been prodded into action. Although still mangy and ill-looking, these feral ones appeared better-fed than the others Soren had fought. Their muscles bulged unnaturally under their matted coats, making them look even more like deformed creatures. Bald patches and silver-white scars traced over their flanks, faces, and torn ears, indicating this wasn’t their first fight.

If this was truly the place where the feral laguz were being created and trained, he suspected these were the survivors of forced fights—and therefore the strongest. The cats were fast and knew to avoid the flames.

As he fought, Soren struggled to ignore the tower’s cloying scent. But the smell wormed its way into his head, making it feel stretched and giving him a headache. It sunk into his skin, making his arms, his face, and even his back feel itchy under his clothes.

Ena (the only laguz in Soren’s unit) seemed extremely anxious, and he wondered if she was experiencing the same thing. But once she transformed into a pink dragon, it was hard to tell. She stomped between the trees, roared angrily, and shot jets of red flame. She was shorter than Nasir, and her vocalizations less ear-piercing. Her breath appeared less powerful as well, and Soren found himself wondering if this was a matter of age or tribe.

He kept an eye on her, and his watchfulness was as much a measure against treachery as it was to satisfy his own curiosity. When a feral red dragon approached their unit, Ena’s voice fell on them: “I will take this one.” Picking up speed with a couple thunderous steps, she clashed with the dragon, and they immediately started grappling for leverage. Soren and other others darted away from their thrashing tails.

The feral one was slightly shorter than Ena and (if Soren remembered correctly) shorter than the red dragons who’d moved their ship off the coast of Goldoa. It also looked different—more wyvern-like with its larger wings, thinner snout, and longer neck. The horns on its head and shoulders were smaller too. Soren suspected these must be effects of the forced transformation.

While Ena wrestled, the feral one fought like an animal, lashing out with its head, arms, and tail. It scratched her face with its wing claws and relentlessly bit her arms and side with its knife-like teeth. Despite its smaller size, it was clearly stronger, and every blow rattled the pink dragon.

But eventually she destabilized the feral one’s hindlegs and got it on its back, where she held it down. Opening her throat, Ena roasted the creature’s head with a sustained jet of red flame. When she stopped, it was not quite dead, but its eyes had melted, the inside of his mouth had been burnt raw, and much of its face had been burnt away, revealing pink flesh and shiny bone. It writhed weakly, but Ena lifted herself to standing and stomped twice on its skull to finish the kill. As with all feral laguz, this one didn’t revert its form when it died, leaving an eerily massive corpse.

Rolf and Boyd clapped excitedly when it was over. “Good show, Lady Ena,” Tauroneo congratulated her.

Ena shook her reptilian head. “More are coming.”

The vibrations rustling the forest floor were a clear indication of that. Two more dragons, a gray tiger, and a scrappy-looking hawk appeared. These were accompanied by their handlers—four Daein soldiers wielding spears and axes.

Ena took one dragon, and Soren the other. Rolf shot down the hawk quickly enough, Boyd faced the tiger, and Tauroneo challenged all of the soldiers to come at him at once. To Soren’s relief, his Elthunder spells seemed potent against these corrupted dragons, just as they would have been against a regular Goldoan. But even five strikes weren’t enough to kill it. When his task was done, Rolf raced to help him. The boy was equipped with a quiver of barbed arrows, which seemed to aggravate the feral ones more than regular projectiles, despite the fact that they no longer relied on magic to sustain their animal appearances. Beset on two sides, the dragon became agitated, moving back and forth between Soren and Rolf, snorting and growling.

Before the dragon was defeated, another tiger appeared, heading straight for him. Soren dodged and switched to Elfire. When the beast rounded on him—smelling of toxins and burnt hair—he dodged again, immolating the beast as it passed. The tiger was dead before it could attempt a third strike. Turning back to the dragon, Soren saw that Boyd had stepped up to take his place. The brothers worked together to knock the creature to the ground, where Boyd leapt onto its neck and slammed his axe into its skull with both arms, cleaving its brain in two. The dragon died with a low moan.

When all their opponents were dead, the unit collected itself and resumed its approach of the tower. After two more altercations, they finally reached it. Ike’s and Titania’s groups were already here, and while they fought in the tower’s periphery, the rest soon arrived.

The Daein commander looked panicked and sweaty. Most of the feral laguz were dead, leaving only his beorc garrison. “This isn’t good…” he whined, “They’re closing in! There aren’t enough Feral Ones. Someone! Anyone? Help! Go find Master Izuka at once!” One soldier ran into the tower, evidently glad to escape.

“I’m going after the leader,” Ike announced. “Cover me.” He charged, but before he could move more than a few steps, Tibarn dropped out of the sky and plowed the commander into the ground. He was probably already dead, but Tibarn continued to tear him to shreds until he was hardly recognizable as a human corpse. Only then did Tibarn revert his form. His face was covered in blood and his fury seemed unabated. Expelling a stream of the man’s blood, he wiped his arm along his mouth.

Seeing this display of savagery, the remaining soldiers dropped their weapons in unison and threw up their hands. Ike accepted their surrender and ordered that they be bound and sit in a huddle under close guard. When he demanded to know where Leanne was, the soldiers looked scared and confused, saying they hadn’t seen any feral herons. “What good would they be in battle anyway?” one had the audacity to say, which earned him a slap across the face from Reyson.

Tibarn laid a hand on the prince’s shoulder. “Do you still sense her?” he asked.

“There is corruption in the air… It makes it difficult. But I know she is close.”

“Then we’ll find her,” Ike assured and ordered the mercenaries to search the tower from top to bottom.

The smell and dizzy feeling were worse inside, and this wasn’t helped by the fact that Daein’s anti-laguz incense wafted in every cage—of which there were many. Each level was packed with them, included enormous ones on the first floor, which must have held the dragons. Soren suspected the sense-inhibited steam kept the feral laguz calm in their cells, but now it was inhibiting the laguz’s ability to search effectively.

As they went, the mercenaries smashed open every window they could find, trying to let in fresh air. Even if the incense didn’t affect the beorc, the smell of urine and feces was overpowering enough.

As they searched, they found recently-deceased scientists in their offices and non-feral laguz dead in their cells—all feathered with the same black-fletched arrows. Before long, they found the soldiers responsible, who were cowering in a closet and lost no time claiming they’d just been following orders. Apparently they’d been told to ‘clean up’ by killing the researchers and subjects alike. Furious, Ike ordered them to be brought outside with the other prisoners, but not before he asked about Leanne. Like the others, these also claimed to never have seen a heron, although one did mention the highest levels were off-limits to soldiers.

A spiral staircase led all the way to the top of the tower, and Ike and Reyson raced up it. Everyone else fanned out to the other floors, but Soren, Tibarn, and Ranulf were right behind them, albeit glancing down halls and opening doors along the way.

“Ike!” Ranulf called when they finally caught up. “Any sign of her?”

“No, I don’t see her anywhere,” Ike growled in frustration. “But there’s a cell with white feathers up here.” He led them to a small study on the top floor. It might have passed as a noble’s cozy library if not for the section partitioned by iron bars. Inside was a narrow bed, a table and chair, a water basin, and even a mirror. At least it looked more accommodating than Lillia’s prison.

Reyson was standing just within the cell’s open door. “Leanne…” he closed his eyes and clenched his fists. “Where have you gone?”

Soren was about to suggest they interrogate Ena when a figure appeared at the window. Considering they were twenty stories up, this was quite a feat.

“Hello, everyone. Are you having some sort of problem?” the visitor asked, lounging casually on the sill. Soren instantly recognized Naesala, King of Kilvas. (It was hard to forget someone who nearly killed you.)

“Naesala!” Reyson exclaimed, and it was hard to tell if he was relieved or furious.

“Oh, King Kilvas. How nice,” was Ike’s greeting. He had one hand on his sword hilt. Soren withdrew his tome.

Naesala didn’t seem concerned. “I believe I have what you seek right here.” He stepped into the room and reaching out a hand to help Leanne land on the sill behind him. The princess was smiling and began twittering happily in the ancient language.

“Leanne! You’re safe!” Reyson swept forward to embrace her tightly.

Ike still seemed cautious. “You? You rescued her?”

“Listen, and listen good.” Naesala warned. “I don’t want there to be any misunderstandings here. It was Tibarn!” He pointed an accusing finger at the Hawk King. “He forced me to do this. It wasn’t any sense of charity or anything. It was just…payment for the debt I had incurred.”

“I knew choosing you would pay off. Excellently done,” Tibarn said loftily.

Naesala scowled. “Flatter me all you like, Hawk King,” he said sarcastically, “You’ll get nothing in return. As promised, the Duke Tanas account has been completely settled.”

“Yes…on my part anyway.” He folded his arms. “Reyson, what do you think?”

He glared at the Raven King. “It will take a long time to forget you sold me to that disgusting human.” 

“Well then, I take my leave of you.” Naesala moved back toward the window. “Perhaps when our paths next cross, you will have forgiven me or found a new reason to despise me.”

“There’s no need to rush off, is there?” Tibarn stepped forward. “Since you’ve come all this way, why not stay and help us with King Daein?”

“What a splendid idea,” Ike grumbled. He was still gripping his sword.

“What?” Naesala laughed. “Enough of your nonsense. I prefer to keep my life intact, thank you.”

Leanne slipped in front of Naesala with her face scrunched into a pout. She said something in the ancient language that definitely sounded like a scolding.

“Listen to me, Leanne. I have no good reason to fight King Daein,” Naesala objected. He then repeated the sentiment in the ancient language: “*No reason allow Daein kill me*,” but his command of the dialect was clearly not fluent.

“No good reason?” Reyson repeated indignantly, stepping beside his sister. “And what about your fellow Kilvans? King Daein has taken their natural identity and warped it beyond repair.” He gestured sharply to the battlefield below.

“They left Kilvas of their own accord. How far should my responsibility for them extend?” Naesala shrugged.

“ _You_ …” Reyson growled.

Just then, Ena burst into the room. She was out of breath, apparently having run up all of the stairs. “Sir Ike, I am sorry to interrupt, but…” She hesitated when she saw Naesala.

“What is it, Ena?” Ike prompted her.

“I have something I need to show you,” she explained. “Will you please come to the basement?”

“This tower has a basement?” Tibarn asked in surprise.

“We have discovered a hidden staircase. What lies below is—” Ena shook her head “—unsettling.”

“Let’s go.” Ike released his sword and gestured for everyone to follow. Apparently he’d decided to trust Naesala for now. Soren followed his lead and returned his tome to the satchel hanging by his side.

The party made their way down the spiral stairs, and no one said a word. When they arrived at the bottom, Titania was guarding a trap door. Several mercenaries had gathered with curious expressions, but only Ike, Soren, Ena, Ranulf, the two herons, and the two kings were allowed to pass.

The basement was nearly pitch black, and the air was thick and close, infused with the unbearable smell of rot and death. The scent of old blood and fresh blood surged into Soren’s nostrils and churned his stomach. It smelled like an entire battlefield had been crammed into a dungeon and left to fester in the darkness.

Ranulf’s throat gave a low whine. Reyson swore and vomited; Tibarn patted his back. Leanne whimpered a word in the ancient language and fell into Naesala.

“What is that smell?” Ike asked. His breath was muffled like he was covering his mouth.

“It is…corruption,” was Ena’s reply.

“It’s too dark to see anything. We need a light,” Ike called above. Titania passed down an unlit torch.

“What, what is this?” Ranulf demanded in a hoarse voice. Soren’s eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, but he had no doubt Ranulf could see all too clearly.

Ena said nothing.

“W-what is this…? Answer me!” Ranulf choked, grabbing her arm.

“Ranulf?” Ike placed a concerned hand on his friend’s shoulder. Soren slipped the torch from his other hand and whispered a spell to set it aflame.

“Laguz…” Ena finally answered. “At one time, they were…laguz.”

Soren passed the torch back to Ike, who strode forward and raised it high. Chains hung from the ceiling like vines and lay on the floors like snakeskins. Congealed blood pooled around drains clogged by clumps of hair and flesh. Jars of varying sizes lined the shelves against one wall, and in them floated all manner of organs and appendages. Mutilated corpses were piled against the walls or draped over benches. Sharp instruments—some rusted brown and some gleaming silver—hung on the walls or were scattered over tables and trays. On these same surfaces lay open the corpses of strange animals, strange people—something mutated and obscene.

Then Soren noticed the little bodies. They were unassuming compared to the monsters, but they attracted his attention most of all. Infants and fetuses not carried to term were lying side by side on a long table, where each had been cut open in a variety of ways. They bore no tails or wings, but on one’s mottled gray skin, Soren thought he saw the tracery of a Brand. He took an involuntary step toward it.

“This is…so horrible,” Ike said in a strangled voice.

His words served as permission for the rest to leave. Naesala pushed Leanne up first; then came Reyson and Tibarn, and then Ena, Ranulf, and Ike. They all spilled out of the dungeon as quickly as they could, but Soren lingered. Part of him wanted to get a closer look at the Branded infant, but the rest of him just wanted to leave like everyone else. He was the last to ascend.

Once they were back in the (relatively) fresh air of the tower’s main lobby, the rest of the mercenaries began asking overlapping questions. They wanted to know what was down there, what they’d seen. But the expression on Ike’s face soon silenced them.

“Let’s get back on the road,” he said, “and leave this cursed tower to oblivion.”

“What should about the Daein prisoners?” asked Boyd.

“Lock them in the cages,” was Ike’s answer.

Some of the mercenaries seemed stunned by Ike’s uncharacteristic cruelty (Mist most of all).

“But, what if no one comes for them?” Rolf asked nervously.

“Lock them in the cages,” Ike repeated, more firmly this time. He walked toward the exit. “We move out in fifteen.”

Naesala closed the distance between Ike and himself in three long strides. It seemed everyone (Soren included) had momentarily forgotten King Kilvas, and he and the others jumped to attention. But their fear was unnecessary; Naesala merely laid a hand on Ike’s shoulder.

“I will join you in Melior,” he declared softly.

Ike seemed surprised but then nodded. “We all have a reason to fight now, don’t we?”

Despite their exhaustion, the mercenaries rode through the night, refusing to make camp at the tower or anywhere near it. They arrived back at Fort Pinell before dawn, at which point most fell straight into bed. The sentries alerted Elincia, who awoke in a panic, meeting Ike in nothing but a nightgown and a robe, demanding to know what had happened to cause them to return so early.

She calmed slightly when she saw Leanne, who paid her respects to her fellow princess (although Elincia clearly didn’t understand a word of it). Elincia also welcomed King Kilvas as a fellow peer of the realm, although Soren could tell she wasn’t entirely happy about it. When this was done, Ike and Elincia retreated to a private parlor where he could tell her everything they’d discovered at Gritnea Tower. 

Soren, meanwhile, was dismissed. He turned in for some overdue rest but found he couldn’t sleep. The horror of that tower still seized his mind. He may not have considered himself a friend of laguz-kind, but he knew the difference between people, animals, and abominations. He knew a crime when he saw it.

 _Abomination. Crime against Ashera. Monster. Branded. Me._ Disjointed thoughts and feelings ricocheted through his brain. He was the product of a union no more natural than those experiments. He was no less of a freak than the monsters whose misshapen bodies had sickened Ike’s face. He was as condemned to darkness as that gray little infant lying open on that table with its gray little brain exposed. _Douse the light. Close the door. Forget what you saw._ The voice in Soren’s head hardly sounded like his own. The scent of the dungeon wouldn’t leave his nostrils, and he imagined it was his own flesh he was smelling. He wondered if he was losing his mind.


	16. CHAPTER 47: A REASON TO FIGHT

When Soren awoke, he washed himself thoroughly and donated yesterday’s robes to be used as rags for the war effort. Although they weren’t even the most patched and repaired clothes he owned, he couldn’t imagine getting the stink of Gritnea Tower out of them.

After this, he went to the mess hall, where he was given a larger portion than usual for breakfast. “What is the meaning of this?” he asked the soldier serving him. “You had better not be showing preferential treatment to officers.” (Such a thing was not allowed in Ike’s army.)

The young man looked confused. “Uh…you’re an officer? I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

Although Soren didn’t usually throw his weight around as the army’s chief tactician, he was certainly unique enough for everyone to recognize him by now. He looked at the soldier doubtfully.

“Sorry, I’m new!” the boy rushed to explain. “I only arrived yesterday, and they put me on kitchen duty.”

Soren realized his mistake. Elincia must have managed to garner new recruits already. “Very well,” he said, composing himself. “Then surely your overseer told you the entire army is currently restricted to half-rations.”

Another server rushed to aid her young comrade. “My apologies, sir.” She saluted. “I couldn’t help but overhear. Princess Elincia increased the ration policy yesterday, sir. You were with General Ike, right? That must be…why…you didn’t…” Her voice lapsed into silence, and she swallowed.

Soren ceased glaring at her and departed with his bowl in hand. Finding an empty table, he ate the half a potato floating in the thin broth (as opposed to the yesterday’s quarter-potato), and he considered his hasty assumptions. He wasn’t thinking clearly, and he was quick to anger. Deciding to blame it on his lack of sleep for now, he set out to find Elincia, Bastian, or one of the Delbray siblings for a report on what he’d missed. 

Discovering that the princess and her retainers were already in town seeking volunteers and other contributions, Soren settled for Tanith. At least she didn’t mince words. According to the Holy Guard, Elincia’s first objective yesterday had been to develop a sustainable food procurement plan.

Under the princess’s command, Tibarn’s entire hawk army had been given the task of flying long distances, bearing letters of introduction and seeking donations. They returned laden with whatever the distant towns were able and willing to contribute. Meanwhile, Gallians poured into the nearby forests, hunting small and large game alike. Townsfolk were foraging, and village children were even digging frogs out of the mud in frigid ponds. Emboldened by seeing the princess and hearing her words, the common folk had given everything they had and were now committing their time and effort to finding more. Sheep and goats prized for their wool were slaughtered for their meat, and Elincia vowed to see the shepherds compensated once Melior was retaken.

The army was cutting unsavory corners too. The townsfolk were giving up their dogs, setting traps for stray cats, and passing over the reins of horses too old to be useful in battle. Those on kitchen duty were told to dice or grind the meat and keep quiet about what they were serving. But Soren guessed most of the soldiers were hungry enough that they probably wouldn’t have cared.

Tanith also reported rumors of nobles stockpiling food and supplies in remote locales, but even Volke’s intelligence-gathering efforts couldn’t reveal who or where. Since Riven Bridge, no surviving nobles had come forward to support Elincia’s rebellion, and Soren had little doubt they were staying far from the capital and capitulating to Ashnard to save their own skins.

As a final method of food conservation, Tanith explained a plan to evict the Daein prisoners. When Elincia returned later that day with even more recruits, the plan was put into action. The survivors of Pinell and Nados were escorted from the dungeons by Begnion soldiers too injured to keep fighting and new Crimean recruits either too young or too old to be useful in battle. These sub-par soldiers would make sufficient guards on the journey to Daein, where the prisoners would then by turned over to Zelgius’s army.

The morose Daeins obediently packed themselves into the carriages (which had also been donated), and some even seemed eager to return home. They didn’t know Zelgius and the Begnion Army was awaiting them, and with any luck, they wouldn’t try to escape on the way. Either way, the Liberation Army now had a thousand fewer mouths to feed without losing any fighting ability.

After seeing the prisoners off, Ike called for a war meeting, during which he doubled down on his plan to march on Melior in twelve days. Elincia’s efforts had gone a long way to feeding the army, but they still needed vulneraries, olivi grass and other herbal medicines, bandages and other medical supplies, healing staves and clerics to wield them.

After compiling a list of temples to visit in the coming days, the conversation moved to the matter of arming and armoring the new recruits. After their victory here at Pinell, Soren had requested the Daeins not be buried with their weapons and armor. Fortunately enough of the tired soldiers had listened, and now they had quite a stockpile of armaments. He said they should obviously use these, and although Ike and Elincia seemed hesitant, Bastian wholeheartedly agreed. He claimed he would personally lead an expedition to acquire as much white paint as possible, and this seemed to satisfy Elincia.

Geoffrey and Lucia then promised to lead drills and train the new cavalry and infantry recruits respectively. They had their work cut out for them, and before the meeting was over, they’d devised a schedule and compartmentalized the field outside Pinell for various exercises. Ike reminded them to leave time and space for the veteran soldiers to train, and he vowed to lead their drills himself as often as he could.

Soren’s task, meanwhile, was to plan the actual siege. It was an important job, and one he felt he’d been preparing for since running for his life out of the Melior Royal Library two and a half years ago. But now that the time had come, he could hardly concentrate. His mind wandered throughout the meeting, and he struggled to listen to—or even care about—the others’ preparations. When they asked him about his ideas for the attack, he deflected, saying he would need more time and intelligence to come up with a suitable plan. Ike trusted him and didn’t press.

Over the next few days, Soren pored over maps of Melior city and its castle and devoured every new report from Titania’s scouts, Tibarn’s hawks, and Volke’s spies as soon as they came in. He slept only a few hours each night, and each hour was separate. Upon waking from a nightmare he couldn’t remember, he would set about re-reading reports to distract his fanciful mind. When he felt he could sleep again, he would reawaken before long and do the same thing. He attended regular war councils and other meetings with various members of the army’s leadership. He assessed the capabilities of the new recruits and recommended new tactics for Geoffrey and Lucia to teach them.

When only four days remained, Soren had settled on a strategy. To avoid being drawn into a messy battle in the city streets, Ranulf, Tibarn, and Naesala would lead one army—nicknamed the Silver Army—in an attack on the castle from the east. Here there would be only two miles of streets between the edge of the city and the castle fields, so there would be less risk to the civilians.

This was exactly where Ashnard had attacked from, using his dracoknights to bypass the dangers of the rockier terrain. Now Soren was doing the same with the Phoenicians, who would take down the defenses and allow the Gallians to scramble more easily through the elevated streets toward the castle. Ashnard was no fool, and following in his footsteps would be dangerous. Soren had no doubt there would be additional ballistae in place. But Tibarn would just have to outmaneuver them.

The laguz-led attack would distract Daein long enough for the second army—nicknamed the Gold Army—to advance through the city and attack the palace’s front entrance. Reports predicted a large force stationed in the castle fields, with trenches dugs, sandbag barricades built, chevaux-de-frise erected, and metal caltrops littering the ground.

Once they reached Castle Crimea, they would have to fell the gate, and once they had access to the castle’s interior, a portion of the Gold Army—nicknamed the Greil Regiment—would splinter from the main group. The Greil Regiment would be an elite unit of about forty beorc and laguz led by Ike and Elincia. Ashnard was expected to assemble his strongest warriors in the royal gardens—a grand courtyard at the palace’s center. This was where the Greil Regiment would defeat the Mad King and end the war.

That is, unless Ashnard touched the medallion and took its power for himself. Such a small thing could spell doom for the Greil Regiment, even if they managed to reach him. But there was no countermeasure Soren could devise to match Lehran’s Medallion, so he tried not to dwell on that possibility.

Instead, he occupied his mind with contingency plans for every other eventuality. This, along with the minutia of daily army maintenance, was an excellent distraction to keep Soren from thinking about Gritnea Tower, which was never far from his mind. He couldn’t shake the memories nor the smell, and whenever he had a moment to breathe, it assaulted his nose. He could hardly eat a few bites before his throat closed, and his usually sharp senses were dulled.

He wondered dimly if he would return to normal once the war was over, but it didn’t seem possible. In fact, he found himself unable to imagine the war ending, even though that was what he spent every waking moment working to make happen. 

It was late when the war council finally concluded and no questions remained concerning Soren’s complete strategy. As new reports rolled in, the details could change, but the main plan would stay the same and everyone had accepted it. While the others filed out, Soren rolled up some documents to take to his room, imagining they would make good reading material if he awoke with nightmares again. But then he noticed Ike was lingering.

“Do you have a second, Soren?”

“What is it?” He laid the documents back on the table to give his commander his full attention (or what passed for it recently).

“What’s wrong?” Ike asked, drawing closer. “You’ve been quiet and moody for days. What’s going on?”

Soren hadn’t expected him to notice any difference—especially because they were both so busy. Ike’s concern made him feel uncomfortable and, if he was honest, a little guilty. Not only had he failed to keep his mind in order, now his problems were affecting Ike as well. “Um... Well, it’s...” Babble fell from his mouth as he tried to find an appropriate lie.

“Yes?” Ike’s eyes were wide and earnest.

“It’s nothing,” Soren finally said, unable to think of something that would placate him.

He made to leave, but Ike blocked his way. “C’mon, tell me what’s on your mind.”

Soren hesitated. Ike could be stubborn when he wanted, and he didn’t want to waste all night sitting here in silence. Finally, he decided to make an effort: “You’ve never worried about who you are, have you? Your family or where you come from…”

“Who I am?” Ike repeated and glanced at the ceiling. He seemed to be thinking hard. “Well, not really,” he finally admitted. “No. I guess I don’t understand what you’re getting at. I had a father and a mother. I don’t remember much about her, but otherwise, no complaints.”

Soren expected Ike would let him leave now. He’d at least tried to communicate what he felt; surely that would suffice. But he didn’t try to push past him again. Ike had honestly tried to understand him, and Soren felt compelled to do the same. “It must be…nice, to have loving parents,” he thought aloud. “You’ve benefitted from having people experience your childhood. They’ve helped shape the person you’ve become.”

Ike nodded as if he agreed.

“But without an adult around to affirm and support them, a child cannot know which path to take…or who they really are.” He didn’t know where he was going, and his voice lapsed into silence.

Ike seemed to consider this statement. “Don’t you have any memory of your parents?” he eventually asked. The mercenaries knew he was an orphan, but they also knew better than to ask personal questions. Soren had never offered any details.

“No.” He shook his head. “The woman who raised me was not my birth mother. And she wasn’t all that fond of me...” He wondered why was he telling Ike about Galina. Why hadn’t he just stopped talking?

The answer was simple: because Ike was still listening. And now that Soren had begun, he found it hard to stop. The words spilled from his mouth:

“My earliest memories are of her saying, ‘Why me? The world isn’t fair!’ or ‘Stay away from me, child.’ No love. No affection. She took care of me out of some sense of duty she didn’t really possess. It was just an arrangement.” Soren swallowed and paused for a moment. Ike said nothing, so he continued: “When I was about four, a sage came by and asked to take me in. He said I possessed rare magical talent. I remember the day clearly. My caretaker was delighted to give me up. In fact, she seemed almost delirious with joy. Smiling like a madwoman as she handed me over... The sage even gave her gold as compensation. Not that it was necessary.”

“Oh, Soren...” Ike finally said. “I had no idea.”

The words made Soren’s spine tingle. He felt utterly exposed. But he kept going, speaking faster now. He didn’t want to give Ike another moment to speak, afraid to hear aloud the pity in his eyes. He both craved and dreaded that pity. “The sage was old and knew death would soon come for him. His only goal was to teach his art to an apprentice. As time was short, he put me through terrible, rigorous magic training. We worked day and night, without cease. I didn’t even have time to think about who I really was. But it was still a better life than I had ever known. When the sage died two years later, I had acquired much magical skill. Perhaps too much for a child of my age...” He thought back to what he’d learned in the Mainal archives and suddenly felt sick. “At any rate, once I had eaten all of the food in his hovel, I left and walked for days. I needed help, but when I found other people, I came to another grim realization... I couldn’t speak. Not a word.”

“Soren...”

He rushed to continue: “Oh, I could read and write better than most of the villagers, and I could understand what they said. I just couldn’t talk. I couldn’t help it. The woman and the sage both hurled words at me. Unkind words, usually. But I never needed to answer, so-”

“Soren!” Ike said more sharply, bringing his monologue to a jarring stop.

He flushed with embarrassment. “Oh... I apologize, Ike. I should not have made you listen to such nonsense.”

“Soren, it’s not nonsense!” There was pity in his voice, but there was something else too—something angrier and less patronizing. “It’s awful! It’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever heard! Where did this happen? Was it in Begnion?”

“No...” He shook his head. “But, there’s more. I haven’t told you...about my parents...” Soren felt as if he’d strayed too close to an electric shock. Static ran over his nerves, clenching his fists, closing his throat and mouth and eyes. “No, that’s enough,” he struggled to say. “I’m sorry. Excuse me...” He forced his way past Ike so he could escape to the hall.

“Wait, Soren?” Ike reached out, but he broke into a run once he was past him. “Soren!” Ike called, but he ignored him. “ _Blast!_ ”

Fortunately Ike did not pursue, and Soren slowed to a brisk walk once the war room was far behind him. _What have I done?_ he wondered in horror. _What was I about to do?_

Soren avoided Ike as much as possible the next day. He took his orders from Titania and had Astrid relay the latest report from Volke. When the next war council convened, he tried not to look at or talk to him directly. When the council ended, he left before Ike could waylay him.

The evasion hardly seemed necessary. Ike didn’t make any attempt to corner him or interrogate him. He didn’t seem to be acting odd at all. Soren was the only one acting strangely. Taking a steadying breath, he told himself to forget it all.

He went to the mess hall to receive his rationed dinner. He needed his strength for the coming battle, so in spite of his nausea and the mystery meat being served, he forced himself to eat. Eating was essential to stay alive. Holding on to this logical thought, Soren almost didn’t realize he was being followed. However, when he left the mess hall and Stefan rose at the same time, he did realize this fact.

With Stefan drawing nearer, Soren turned down an empty corridor and waited for him to make the same turn. Sure enough, the hermit appeared.

“What do you want?” he snapped.

“You’ve seemed stressed. Did something happen?”

Soren scowled. Feeling terrible was bad enough without everyone noticing.

“Our kind has to look out for one another,” Stefan added.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Soren had no patience to deal with this again.

“This war will be over soon enough. Why are you still pretending to be something you aren’t?” Stefan crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.

“Why do you keep bringing this up? I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Denying his identity to Stefan felt foolish now, but he’d been lying for so long he couldn’t stop.

“You’re Branded—there’s no doubt about it. I can tell. I am just like you.”

Stefan’s words silenced his protests once and for all. He said nothing.

“You’ve grown quite good at hiding it. But it’s only a matter of time before your heritage becomes…evident.”

“Evident?” Soren repeated. He couldn’t afford to ignore Stefan if he had valuable information.

“You may have already started to notice,” he explained, “We age differently than beorc. Of course, the specifics depend on which type of laguz blood flows in your veins… How old are you now?”

This wasn’t news to Soren; he’d feared it since Temple Asic. “Nineteen,” he answered reluctantly.

“Indeed?” Stefan looked surprised. “Perhaps it has already become evident… Well, beorc aren’t the most observant.”

Soren didn’t think Stefan was making fun of him, but he felt his old embarrassment bubble to the surface. Long in the past were the days Soren had driven himself mad comparing himself to Ike and Boyd, and yet at Stefan’s slight provocation, the memories returned as fresh as ever. “I thought I was aging normally…until about five years ago,” he admitted.

Stefan made a sympathetic face. “You won’t be able to remain in the same place,” he warned. “Even beorc will catch on eventually.”

“That may be true, but…” Soren hesitated. Stefan was correct and what he advised was logical, but it was also impossible. “I will not leave Ike’s side,” he finished firmly. Even for a beorc, Ike could be particularly unobservant (not counting his uncanny ability to sense people’s emotional instabilities). Soren was determined to stay with the mercenaries for as many years as possible. And one day, when Ike learned the truth and asked him to leave the mercenaries, Soren would do so without protest. When that day comes…perhaps I will kill myself. The thought came out of nowhere, springing to his mind out of some dark place. But as the seconds ticked by, the more comfortable the idea felt. I don’t want the long life of a Branded…a cursed life.

“When the time comes,” Stefan said carefully, as if he knew the morbid path Soren’s thoughts had just taken, “—and you will know when—ride to Grann Desert. You have friends there.”

Soren nodded to say he understood, but it was not an agreement. He had no desire to hide in the desert with other Branded, to while away the centuries in dust and sand. He would never be content to ignore and be ignored by the world. But most of all, he couldn’t imagine his life without Ike in it. When Ike pushed him out of the mercenaries, that would be it. The end.

And if Soren’s suspicions about Ike and Elincia’s shared future were true, that end could come sooner than expected. He wouldn’t need to fear Ike eventually noticing his slow aging. When the mercenaries were disbanded, when Ike retired to spend the rest of his life in Elincia’s arms, reflected in her eyes, laughing at her voice—Ike would never know the truth about Soren. And maybe that was for the best.

When Soren surfaced from these thoughts, Stefan was gone.

Two more days passed. New recruits were still coming in, and the reinforcements now numbered well over three thousand. At this rate, they would have just enough to march on Melior (even if they would still be outnumbered and a good portion of their troops were civilians). There was a mad rush to finalize preparations for the coming battle, which meant Ike had been busy and easy to avoid.

Although he hadn’t approached Soren or asked any additional questions about his childhood or parents, Soren’s thoughts had taken up residence on the same morbid path they’d explored that night with Stefan. Killing himself when the day came was a comforting thought. It was an escape route.

But this plan revolved around a day when Ike would find out the truth and cast him out, a day when Ike and everyone else would look at him with confused, betrayed, and disgusted eyes—a day Soren never wanted to happen. So he was fostering a new plan: letting himself go down in battle before that day ever arrived. He would die like so many beorc died—in a mess of blood and offal. No one would ever know he was a Branded.

But Soren would never see Ike content and at peace, with his hand in Elincia’s, a crown on his head, and the rich land of Crimea spread out around them. He would never see the fruits of his labors; he wouldn’t see this war won. And he couldn’t tell whether this thought was a disappointment or a mercy. 

Soren spoke to no one as the day of reckoning approached. He stopped practicing magic. He attended the council meetings but spoke little. He read reports, but they didn’t change his strategy. He gave most of his uneaten food to Ilyana without saying a word. He wasn’t sure he wanted to die, but this would be the last battle of the war (one way or another) and his last chance to die discreetly. He didn’t want to miss the opportunity and regret it.

Consumed by these thoughts, Soren forgot to leave the meeting in the flood of other bodies so Ike couldn’t corner him. “Hey, Soren,” his voice called him back to the present.

Wincing at the sound, he cast his eyes around and saw that everyone had left. Ike took the seat next to him, where Titania had been sitting moments before. His face looked sad and worried. Soren felt utterly trapped.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said the other day,” Ike began, “and there's something I still don’t understand. You survived. You’re strong. Why would you feel insecure about who you are? Tell me. Tell me everything.” His every word was the toll of a bell that rang deep and clear. It was a sound that signaled the end—but it also offered hope.

“Damn it, Ike!” Soren slammed both fists on the stone table. It hurt his hands, but he welcomed the pain. “Why can’t you leave me be? I don’t have any friends! I don’t have anyone else! If I tell you and you turn on me... I-I-I don’t think I can survive it.” His vision blurred with stinging tears, but they didn’t spill over. He couldn’t look at Ike, but he was acutely aware of his closeness, the curve of his body, the concern and sympathy that radiated from his every pore.

“That’s why you have to tell me, Soren,” he replied. “You’ll never tell anyone else, and if you don’t tell anyone, you’re just going to keep suffering. Look at you—you’re a mess! Come on. Talk to me.”

“Ike... I-I...” He didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

“Soren, it’s me!” Ike laughed, as if he’d been foolish to forget. “Trust me. I don’t give two figs who your parents are! I'll stand by you.”

“Ike, I...” His voice was becoming clogged. He sniffed and wiped his face with his sleeve. “No, I won’t...” He sniffed again, wiping his eyes again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. It was more painful than expected. He dared to turn and look at Ike. He was right there, looking like he always did. But his face was frustrated and hurt, like he wanted to help and couldn’t, like he wanted to fight and couldn’t. He was the same Ike Soren had known since they’d met in the Gallian forest. Crying in front of him now felt ridiculous. “Ah, Ike...” He released a long, broken breath and imagined it was his last one. That was it. He was dead. “I’m...Branded. I’m one of the Branded.”

“A Branded? What’s that?” Ike asked, confused.

Soren knew he shouldn’t be surprised. Greil had raised his children in ignorance. “It’s a cross between a beorc and a laguz,” he explained. “Such a taboo union violates every teaching of the goddess and society. We are untouchables. Abominations. Condemned to a life of hatred and shunning from both races.”

“Wait, wait.” Ike raised both hands as if telling Soren to slow down. “Hold on a second. Let me make sure that I follow you—you’re part laguz?”

“Yeah.” Hearing Ike say the words was even more painful. Soren gingerly placed a finger on his forehead. “This mark is the proof. I learned the truth researching at the Mainal Cathedral. I always hoped it was a birthmark. Others thought it was the mark of a Spirit Charmer.”

“What’s a Spirit Charmer?” Ike asked, as if adding it to a long list of things he didn’t understand.

“Magic comes from interaction with spirits,” Soren explained. “If you let one into your body, it will give you tremendous power...for a price. That’s why the old sage was so interested in me. He thought I had struck a deal. But instead, I was just a filthy Branded.” Soren let both his palms land on the table and stared at them.

“Alright. I understand.” Ike said. Soren gritted his teeth and prepared to receive his dismissal; at least he knew Ike would be gentle about it. But instead he asked: “So?”

Soren glanced at him in surprise. “What do you mean, ‘so’?”

“ _So_ , you have laguz blood in your veins. _So_ , you have a mark to prove it. _So_...what’s the problem?”

Soren was stunned. He stared at Ike. “What’s the problem?” he repeated almost soundlessly. “Don’t you find me repugnant? I work beside you, eat beside you. I’m nothing! I don’t belong anywhere! Doesn’t that _sicken_ you?”

“No,” Ike said firmly. “It doesn’t change anything. You’re still you, Soren! You’re a capable officer of our army—and my friend. We can’t keep going unless you’re with us.”

“...Ike... I thought... I thought you...” Soren stammered. “No, I’m still… I’m a liability… You can’t just… I don’t deserve to…” Tears were welling in his eyes again, but these were warm and gentle, not hot and stinging. His throat and the roof of his mouth had felt cramped and burned before, but now they were soothed. Soren couldn’t recall this kind of crying at all. It was entirely different. “Ike, do you…remember?” he found himself asking.

“What?”

He wiped his eyes and found that the moisture faded away. “It was Gallia. The sage lived in Gallia. Some beorc had settled there, and...” Soren had never intended to remind Ike of how they’d met. Ike had forgotten, and Soren had accepted that. But now seemed the right time. After all, he’d already divulged worse secrets.

“Gallia? Are you saying...” Ike trailed off. His eyes widened as if he understood. Soren wondered if that meant he remembered.

“When the sage died, no one would help me. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t find food. I was dying.” He paused a moment. “ _You_ were the only one who helped. You and your parents. That’s why you’re my friend. My...only friend.”

Ike leaned forward and was suddenly holding Soren in a tight hug. Soren went rigid at the contact. He wanted to hug Ike back, but he didn’t know how. He didn’t know what to do with his arms. So he remained immobile until Ike released him, but his hands were still on his shoulders.

“I remember…sledding with you. We did that, right? We played games…” He looked like he was trying to remember, and that was enough for Soren. He wouldn’t push him any farther.

“Yes, we did.”

“Thank you for telling me all of this,” Ike said, finally dropping his arms. “We march on Melior tomorrow, and no matter what happens, I am glad to have known you, Soren, and to continue knowing you long after this war is over.”

“Me too, Ike,” Soren managed to say.

Ike forbid Soren from working the rest of the afternoon, so he forced himself to eat a full meal for once and was surprised when the bowl was empty. Then he left Pinell for a walk. These days, he only went outside to observe or participate in new drills. But now, instead of taking the road to the field, he wandered the winding paths of the ever-growing tent city outside the fort’s walls. He inhaled the smell of sweat, urine, and iron. He peered through the smoky air at the faces of men and women preparing for the coming battle. Some looked terrified, some fearless. Others looked numb. The non-fighting volunteers—those working leather, hammering steel, and distributing rations—watched the soldiers with strange expressions. Sometimes they offered encouraging smiles and soft words, but most just stared as if seeing ghosts.

Soren listened to the cacophony of voices, shouts, hoofbeats, weapons and tools clanging, tarps flapping, bellows gasping, wood chopping, mills grinding, and the thousand other sounds filling the camp. Night would soon fall, and everyone was bustling as if every minute of preparation now could save them all tomorrow.

Soren didn’t know what would happen in the coming battle. He didn’t know if he would survive, or Ike, or anyone. But he felt alive now, more alive than he had in a long time—and he was determined to stay that way. A weight had lifted from his shoulders. He felt hopeful.

He hadn’t been going anywhere in particular. He’d been letting his feet guide him. But then he felt something, a presence in the distance, that drew him in. He didn’t fight it. He let his steps take him in that direction. As he drew closer, that presence washed over him with familiarity and unease. When his feet stopped in front of a blacksmith’s tent, he was stunned—there was a Branded in that tent.

Soren wondered if he was dreaming or if this could truly be a coincidence so soon after his confession to Ike. Or perhaps it was some divine intervention on the part of Ashera, but he couldn’t bring himself to actually believe that. He walked forward, ducking under the low-hanging tent flap.

Her curls were greased with sweat and her face flushed from working so close to the fire. He could hear her voice, humming while she worked, and he was struck how familiar it sounded despite the years that had passed: Koure. He could now tell she was a Branded like him, and this realization made an odd amount of sense.

She looked up from her work: winding animal sinew tightly to the handles of freshly forged axes. Perhaps she’d sensed him too, because she didn’t seem surprised. She just smiled, placing her project on a workbench. Soren glanced at the blacksmith, the only other occupant of the tent. He was hammering intently to temper a blade and didn’t seem to notice his entry. 

“Hi, Soren!” Koure said loudly over the sounds of metal on metal. She was grimy from hard work but looked happy. Her pale blue eyes shone through the hazy air, and no amount of soot could hide the color of her curls—the same pale gold as Leanne’s, he thought. But Koure’s hair was cut short, popping up out of her head in erratic corkscrews, and her face was scattered with freckles, while Leanne’s was porcelain white.

“What are you doing here?” Soren demanded more harshly than intended, caught off guard by her presence.

“What I can,” she answered.

Soren frowned and crossed his arms.

“There is a war going on, in case you haven’t heard,” she teased. “Shouldn’t we all do our part?”

Soren thought back to the last time he’d seen her. “I thought you were going to Daein.”

“Turns out that was easier said than done.” She shrugged. “There are Daein soldiers and spies everywhere, and other refugees suspecting me of being a spy myself…There was too much work to do anyway. The Crimean rebels had me peeling potatoes and waxing armor about as often as the Daeins did.” She flashed a smile show this was a joke. “Really though, I’m glad to do my part.”

“Will you fight tomorrow?” Soren asked, not quite sure what answer he was expecting, nor what he wanted to hear.

Koure shook her head and stroked the axe she’d just set down. “I’ve decided not to.”

“But you have been trained, haven’t you?” he recalled their days at the temple. “Didn’t you say your father taught you?”

Koure laughed humorlessly, confusing him with her sudden bitterness. She was usually so cheerful. Even a second ago she’d been smiling. “I haven’t held a blade or ridden horse in years. I’m sure I’ve forgotten how.”

“Thousands of civilians are training at this very moment,” he pointed out, “That isn’t much of an excuse.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

Soren didn’t say anything for several moments. It was a valid answer, simple, and he could tell by her face that she was being honest. She may have been a Branded, but she was less of a monster than most people he’d met. “Okay,” he finally said.

Koure changed the subject. “Your commander is the general of the army, isn’t he? I knew you’d be around.”

“But you didn’t try to find me.” It wasn’t a question.

She hesitated, her expression still somber. “You could die tomorrow. I thought it would be better if I didn’t see you.”

Soren wasn’t sure how to reply to that. “I did not mean to find you. I just did.”

Koure shrugged one shoulder. “It was bound to happen.”

“It is a big coincidence,” Soren countered.

“So was finding you at the temple, and you finding me in those dungeons. Maybe our kind is meant to find one another.”

“Our kind?” he repeated, unsure of how much she knew.

Koure nodded, but it was hardly more than a tremor. She glanced at the blacksmith, but he was still ignoring them. “I need to show you something.” She stood and grabbed his hand. Soren allowed himself to be led out of the tent. “I’ll be right back!” she shouted to the blacksmith. He grunted in reply. Not letting go of his hand, she led him out and around the back, to a shelter between two tents made of canvas and wooden slats.

“Is this where you’ve been living while you’re here?” Soren asked.

Koure nodded. She didn’t seem ashamed of her meager dwelling. “It’s better than a lot of places I’ve lived these past few years. There’s a blacksmith on either side, so it always warm enough.”

Soren allowed himself to be sat down on an up-turned box, while Koure stood across from him. Her hair grazed the low ceiling. She lit a lantern, handed it to him, and then exhaled evenly, as if trying to calm her nerves. “I wanted to show you back at the temple, but I lost my nerve. I didn’t know what it meant at the time, but I’ve learned a lot since then.”

Koure untied her leather apron behind her neck so it folded at her waist and then undid a latch above her sternum, which released the leather sleeves she was wearing for the smithy. Undoing the top buttons of her shirt, she pulled it down and to the side to reveal an intricate tattoo-like mark just above her heart. The design was painted in thin gold lines, and although it was larger than Soren’s Brand, the location made it easier to conceal.

When he finally spoke, all he could think to say was, “You’re Branded, I know.”

Koure breathed a sigh of relief as she rebuttoned her shirt. “You are too, right? I felt it about you, back when I first met you, but I was afraid. I knew we were the same, but I didn’t know how. There was so much I didn’t know back then.”

“Such as?” Soren asked cautiously.

“People like us are born from human and subhuman blood. But there are other names: beorc and laguz. And we are called Branded. For some reason I still can’t fathom, people think we bring bad luck, but that’s just a myth.”

Soren nearly smiled, hearing her speak so lightheartedly about the bane of his existence. She must have noticed his almost-smile, because she sat down on an upturned bucket and looked suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sure you already know all that, though.”

Soren nodded.

“Well, it sure feels good being able to tell someone.”

Soren nodded again, more slowly. “Yes, it does.” He thought about Ike. “Have you told others?”

Koure shook her head. “It’s too dangerous. It’s hard to tell the people who’d be scared from the people who wouldn’t mind. Some people have seen it accidentally.” She absentmindedly curled fingers over her heart. “That…never ended well.”

“That’s why you left the orphanage…” Soren thought aloud.

Koure nodded. “They didn’t notice at first, but when they did, I had to leave. I tried going back to Hilda, but she wouldn’t have me either. She was convinced I’d run away. She tried making me go back, but I couldn’t so…I was on my own. Well, not entirely. One of my cousins sheltered me for a while, until Hilda found out…”

“I’m sorry,” Soren said, surprising himself by how much he meant it.

“It’s alright.” Koure shook her head. “Most people can be kind. So many helped me along the way.”

Soren wondered if she was exaggerating or if their experiences could have truly been so different.

“Anyway, I bet you’ve had a harder time,” she said as if reading his mind. She pointed meaningfully to her own forehead.

“I was lucky to find the Greil Mercenaries.”

Koure paused a moment. “So do you…well, do you know who your parents are?”

“No.”

“Me neither,” she said with another shake of her head. “I want to find out though. I really am going to Daein after this. But that would be a lot easier if you could just go ahead and win this war already, okay?” She smiled to show she was joking.

“Tomorrow,” Soren assured. But they both knew he couldn’t promise anything. No one could. After several moments of silence, he found himself saying, “I am glad you aren’t fighting. I would prefer if you survived tomorrow.”

She looked sad when she replied: “You too.”

They talked for a while longer, but eventually Soren had to return to the fort. He needed to get some rest before the coming battle, or he would be no use at all.

After leaving Koure, he wondered if he should have told her about Palmeni Temple and the words on the wall there. But then he told himself he was being foolish. Even if the child of the heron Lillia and had somehow survived, and even if Koure were that child, Soren wasn’t sure he wanted her to know that. Perhaps it was better she search for answers and have hope than find out the truth and its misery. Shaking the thoughts from his head, he reminded himself there were more pressing things to worry about.

That night, before turning in, Soren sat with Ike, Titania, and Ranulf by the fire in main hall. He’d merely been passing by when Ike invited him to join, and despite his tiredness, he agreed to sit a moment. In a way, this also felt like rest. The fort was quiet, and the fire crackled comfortingly.

“This war has been waged for over two years…” Ranulf mused. “But it could all be over by midday tomorrow. How do you feel, Ike? Think we’ll win?”

“We’ll win,” was Ike’s determined response.

“I knew you’d say that,” Ranulf chuckled, “You don’t fool me anymore, but even so… I appreciate your bravado tonight.”

Ike frowned into the fire, but then they all looked over their shoulders at the approach of footsteps. To Soren’s surprise, a laguz soldier was leading none other than Lord Giffca—Gallia’s premier general and Caineghis’s bodyguard and closest confidant—to meet them. 

“Without such courage, it would be impossible to face King Daein,” he rumbled in greeting. “My apologies, I could not help but overhear.” He bowed over his arm.

“General Giffca!” Ranulf leapt to his feet to bow low. “What are you doing here?”

“The king and I felt uneasy sitting this one out, so I have come in both our steads.”

Titania also bowed. “I am surprised King Caineghis let you out of his sight,” she laughed.

Giffca smiled. “The threat of the dark god behooves us all make sacrifices.”

“So, you’re going to fight with us?” Ranulf asked in disbelief.

“That is my purpose.” Giffca nodded. “That is, if Lord Ike grants his permission.” He turned to him expectantly.

“Of course. The Daein Army is large, so we’re going to hit them from the front while a second force attacks the eastern gate. I’d appreciate if you would agree to take command of that front.”

“If that is your wish, I can but agree.” He bent over his arm a second time.

Ranulf pulled a pouting face. “Hey, what’s this now? You weren’t satisfied with the work I was doing? I mean, I know I’m no General Giffca, but _sheesh_.”

“Ranulf, I want you with me,” Ike answer, clapping an arm on his shoulder. “Join the Greil Regiment and fight by my side… Would that be alright?”

“Oh, I see.” He grinned. “You need me to protect you. Sure thing! Being part of the main pack is the highest honor.”

“Lord Giffca!” Mordecai called, bounding across the room. Lethe was just beside him, seeming to restrain her excitement. While they fawned over the king’s consort, Soren decided to make his exit. He was glad the lion had come, but this didn’t change anything and he really was tired.

The Crimea Liberation Army marched in silence until they reached the outskirts of Melior. Here they erected a basecamp for the last time and divided into the Gold and Silver Armies. The Silver Army moved out, and the Gold Army remained quiet and nervous until a hawk messenger returned some time later. She reported that Daein’s city forces had moved to the east to fend off Giffca and Tibarn’s troops. Now was the time for the Gold Army to advance.

They marched through the city streets without any major altercations (just a few ambushes meant to spook the inexperienced troops). When they arrived at the castle fields, Soren recognized the wall around Melior Castle and the peaks of the library, temple, and palace within. But black flags bearing Daein’s dragon emblem hung from them now, and the fields surrounding the castle had been trampled and churned into a deadly battlefield.

Ike ordered the army pause at the edge of the field, and Elincia alighted atop a small hill where she could address them. Dismounting from her pegasus, she shouted to her assembled troops: “Hear me! Brave fighting men of Crimea! Much have you lost in service to your land. Hear me! Beloved friends of the laguz! You, too, have given all for our fair cause. Hear me! My trusted company of old! You men of Greil did see me to this day. I stand before you made of flesh and bone, alive because you risked your lives for me. A word cannot my thanks express in kind… We march today into the jaws of fate; our enemy lies in wait o’er this hill. If on the ‘morrow, Ashnard lives no more, my fondest dream is to among you walk and give you each my heartfelt thanks anew. Let not this dream dissolve into despair! We will defeat the dreaded king of Daein! We will reclaim this land we hold so dear. Lend me your strength! Lend me your weary hearts! Today we make our fate for good and all! One life can make a mark upon this world. One life can move the wheel of history. Be that one life! Fight well! Fight brave! Fight true.”

The entire army erupted in a thunderous applause and cheering—even those in the back who surely hadn’t heard a word. Ranulf and Ike were clapping and smiling beside Soren. “Where did that come from?” Ranulf exclaimed. “That was magnificent! It seems the princess has grown stronger too.”

“It’s said we grow into the roles we’re given, isn’t it? Elincia will make a splendid queen.” Not for the first time, Ike was staring at the princess in awe.

Ranulf stopped clapping and stared at him with mouth agape.

“That’s…that’s just what Nasir said!” Ike amended in embarrassment. “What? It’s true! Stop it! Don’t give me that I-can’t-believe-what-I-just-heard look.”

Ranulf laughed. “Oh, Nasir said it? Whew! That’s a relief! I thought the world had gone mad and you were trying to be wise.”

Ike punched him gently in the shoulder. “Stupid cat.”

Soren found himself wondering once again what Ike would do after the war. Would he keep his lordship and court the princess? He’d expressed a desire to continue leading the mercenaries, but Soren couldn’t see how he could do both. Considering his popularity, the other nobles would have no choice but to approve his marriage and coronation. The king of Crimea led armies from a desk; he didn’t fight on the frontlines with a ragtag band of mercenaries. But for Elincia’s love, perhaps Ike would make that sacrifice in a heartbeat.

Turning away from Ranulf, Ike addressed his battalion: “Alright, let’s go! This ends today.”

“I’m ready,” said Titania.

“I have everything I need,” Soren added.

The rest of the mercenaries gave a vague cheer as their excited voices and promises of preparedness overlapped.

“Very well, we’re ready.” Ike started to raise his hand to give the signal, but Titania stopped him.

“Say, Ike! This is the end of the end, you know? So rather than just giving orders, why don’t you say a word?” She grinned broadly.

“I think Princess Elincia said enough.”

Mist stepped forward. “They’ll want to hear what you have to say too! Father always did it, didn’t he?”

“You want me to say something…like Father would have?” Ike seemed more resigned than confident. 

In answer, Mist pushed him up the hill toward Elincia, who graciously stepped aside and gestured for him to speak.

The army fell silent when he reached the top, and he seemed to take a moment to switch from tunnel-vision general to encouraging commander. “Before this final battle, there’s only one thing I want to tell all of you… I don’t want _any_ of you dying on me! Remember, you only have one life! At a time like this, it doesn’t matter what our blood ties are. We are family. That’s what my father always used to say. And today—for the first time—I understand why he said it… Because we _are_ a family. So if you don’t want to cause your family any grief, then _live!_ Don’t drop your guard! Don’t turn your back! Use every drop of your strength! Our road has been long, but it ends today! Let’s liberate Crimea and free our friends—and our families—from Daein’s tyranny! Beorc and laguz of Tellius… Greil Mercenaries... MOVE OUT!” Ike drew the ancient blade Ragnell and held high it above his head.

His speech was followed by a thunderous cheer. Every soldier raised their weapons to the sky, mimicking his gesture. They roared until their voices grew hoarse, and although Soren didn’t join them, he couldn’t help but smile. What Ike was asking was ridiculous. This would be a devastating battle. The Silver Army numbered only three thousand and were facing Daein’s eastern forces of eight thousand at this very second. The Gold Army numbered eight thousand and would be facing eighteen thousand on the field in only a moment. Inside the castle (if they made it that far) they would face ten thousand more.

The Liberation Army was outnumbered by more than three to one, and most of these cheering people were walking to their doom. Maybe they all were. Rumor had it that the Daein wasn’t keen on taking prisoners or keeping their prisoners alive when they did. Defeat today could mean death for every single one of them. Only deserters, those who turned tail and ran at the first sign of bloodshed, would have a chance of surviving.

And yet, Ike’s words had inspired these people to tears, because they’d grown to love their general. They truly believed, in this small moment, that they could all survive if they tried hard enough. It was a foolish thought, but oddly heartwarming.


	17. CHAPTER 48: ADVANCE

The Gold Army advanced on the castle fields, where they encountered trenches and earthworks, archers and ballistae, and all manner of barricades and traps meant to hobble the Crimean cavalry. Of course, Soren’s spies had already described these fortifications in great detail, but seeing such a feat of martial engineering with his own eyes was another thing entirely.

That being said, Soren had prepared a countermeasure for every element of Daein’s defense, and what he really wanted to see were these measures put into action. At the head of the army, Lucia led a vanguard of swordsmen, behind which were stationed a line of mages (Soren included). Geoffrey’s cavalry regiment was lined up behind them, eager for the charge.

“Cut them to pieces!” was Lucia’s bloodthirsty cry, and she, Mia, Zihark, Stefan, and hundreds of others ran toward Daein’s first line. However, instead of engaging them, they broke through, slipped past, and slid into the trench where pikemen were stationed to skewer leaping horses. Soren couldn’t see much, but he knew there was little the pikemen could do to defend themselves in close quarters. The trench would become a river of blood.

The front line of Daeins—looking confused and a little insulted at being passed by—turned their attention on the vulnerable mages and raced forward. The spellcasters stepped up to confront them, which meant it was time for Soren to start chanting. Calill, Tormod, and the other fire mages conjured walls of flames, and Soren, Bastian, and the other wind mages attacked between them. If any soldiers got through, Rhys and the other light mages melted their hands and faces before they could attack. Many of the new tome-wielding recruits were elderly and had never applied their craft to real battle. But Soren was pleased to see no one fainted or ran for their lives; the line held.

When enough of the soldiers were dead, the archers beyond the trench finally started firing. In response, Soren and the other wind mages switched tactics, now focusing on keeping the arrows from landing on their targets.

Before long, Lucia signaled that the trench was secure and Geoffrey ordered the charge. “We are the thunder!” he bellowed, and in response Ilyana and the other thunder mages cried:

“And we are the lightning!” They shocked the ground with weak, sustained bolts. Doing so lit up the metal caltrops with vibrating tendrils of electricity, revealing where they littered the field both before and beyond the trench. Once they were visible, the horses naturally avoided them and the charge could proceed unhindered.

Soren and the wind mages jogged forward, continuing to cast their protective spells, but the earth-pounding cavalry swiftly overtook them. Titania, Oscar, Kieran, Astrid, Makalov, and even Mist were among them. They leapt safely over the trench, and once they were on the other side, they tore into the archers trying to fall back and the infantry trying to move forward—thereby sewing death and disorder in Daein’s frontlines.

Next to run past Soren were the churning legs of an ax phalanx. Many of these men and women were civilian recruits, but some, such as Boyd and Largo, were experts of their craft. The members of this phalanx were carrying planks and ladders above their heads, which they laid over the trench to make the crossing easier for the rest of the army.

These planks were fitted with handles, and once the army was across, the rear troops would heft them as pavises and carry them to the frontlines again. When they reached the wall, the ladders would be used to scale it.

But for now, Boyd’s phalanx united with Lucia’s vanguard, and together they surged ahead. They arrived just in time for Daein to assemble a line of pikes against the cavalry, and Geoffrey signaled a retreat to make way for the incoming infantry. Soren and the elemental mages finally caught up, and once they were in position, they continued illuminating caltrops, combatting volleys of arrows, and burning control lines to keep the Daein forces from advancing. The light mages were a bit slower, and since many doubled as healers, they fell back to attend the injured.

Ike and the rest of the army were approaching slowly but steadily from behind. At the front marched a large regiment of archers, including Shinon and Rolf. They were fending off the dracoknights who’d already begun attacking the main army, and an aerial platoon led by Elincia was rounding up any who tried to split off.

When Ike signaled that the entire army had crossed, the process began again with the next trench. This time, a regiment of spearmen and halberdiers, including Nephenee and Devdan, were responsible for the planks and ladders.

After crossing the next two trenches, they came to a wider section of field. In addition to the caltrops, there were many more troops and staggered rows of chevaux-de-frise. Although the infantry vanguard could slip between them without losing too much momentum, they made maneuvering the cavalry impossible.

But Soren had planned for this as well. First, pairs of horses ran with chains between them to take down soldiers who didn’t realize the need to duck. In this way, they cleared paths to the barricades. One rider in each pair then dropped the chain, and both veered off to either side before impaling themselves on the spikes. Special units moved in their wake, carrying torches and bladders of oil to set fire to the frise.

Some fire mages joined these teams for good measure, but most had a separate task of targeting the walls of sandbag interspersed among the chevaux-de-frise. Burlap burned even if sand didn’t, and the barricades eventually fell apart.

The frise they couldn’t burn were hacked to pieces by soldiers wielding poleaxes, leaving only a few still standing, which were then easy to avoid. And when any soldier or mercenary encountered one that was light enough (or hacked small enough) to move, they would send up a signal flag. A rider with a chain would proceed to the location, hook their line to the frise and take off running. In this way, cantering steeds turned the spikey wooden deathtraps into mobile weapons, swinging left and right behind the horses and taking out dozens of alarmed Daeins.

Some tacticians may have frowned upon the time, effort, and lives Soren was expending merely to clear the battlefield of obstructions. But he had a good reason for it. The fields around Melior Castle existed to capitalize on Crimea’s superior horsemanship and cavalry maneuvers in the case of a direct attack on the capital. Ramon hadn’t had time to mobilize his army and take advantage of the terrain when Ashnard had first attacked, but now Soren was intent on giving the Crimean Army a field on which to prove itself. He had watched them fight and train these past weeks, and he knew what they were capable of.

Another trench segmented the battlefield and the arena beyond was similarly furnished with troops and barricades, so Ike proceeded with a second rendition of Soren’s strategy. The fire troops still had enough oil, so it worked just as well the second time. When the barricades were cleared and the caltrops revealed, Geoffrey’s cavalry platoons raced around the field, disorienting, separating, and slaughtering the enemy soldiers. 

When this section was clear, the army took a moment to breathe and adjust their formations before moving on. Daein may have been controlling the pace of the battle with their fortifications, but the Liberation Army was taking advantage of it too. Ike was restraining himself enough to monitor the battle from behind the frontlines and carefully control the advance. As long as Soren and the wind mages mitigated the barrage of arrows and as long as the phalanxes of shield-bearers like Gatrie, Brom, and Tauroneo protected their right and left sides, there was no immediate danger and no frantic rush. In this way, every new hurdle could also serve as a chance to reconvene.

Each time, Soren assessed the cavalry at the heart of the army, and he was pleased to see his tactics were preserving a large number of horses that would have otherwise been lost to Daein’s traps. Despite the already staggering number deaths and the hundreds of injured being triaged in the army’s rear, nothing important had yet been lost. The battle could continue. The Liberation Army still had a chance.

When they neared the portion of the field that was within range of Daein’s rolling catapults, Ike ordered Elincia’s aerial regiment to retreat to basecamp. The remaining dracoknights must have sensed victory at the sight of their fleeing prey, because every single one pursued. But Soren had predicted this behavior well ahead of time, and Ike knew what to do. He’d already pulled back the archer regiment and altered their formation into an execution corridor. Elincia and the others led the dracoknights south in a straight line, and the archers fired relentlessly as they passed, not stopping until every last wyvern had fallen from the sky. 

Soren had stopped fighting to turn around and watch the display, and although he was relieved his plan at worked, he also regretted the distraction. An enemy arrow found his shoulder, and he fell to the ground. Rolling over, he incanted another spell and was ready to release it by the time he was back on his feet.

Once he was safe again, he started falling back, looking for a cleric. As a member of the Greil Regiment, he’d been given an emergency flag to summon one of the mounted healers if need be, but he would prefer not to use it and disrupt the flow of battle. That being said, he would also have preferred not to be shot. He still had a lot of this battle left to fight, and he couldn’t afford to be weakened so early.

Chanting spells through the pain, he managed to defend himself as he retreated. Eventually he found someone who could remove the arrow and close the wound. He was an elderly priest who reminded Soren of Belm and should probably have had no place on a battlefield. But here he was, and Soren supposed he appreciated it. As with the bishop at Riven Bridge, this healing session was a painful one, and Soren had little double it would leave an aching, puckered scar. But at least it didn’t take long.

By the time he rejoined the fray, the army was crossing the next trench. Catapults were firing, and as they did, Daein soldiers ducked behind earthwork shelters. When the firing stopped, the soldiers emerged to assault the battered Liberation troops. Once the weapons had been reloaded, Daein would relay a signal and the soldiers on the frontlines would take shelter again. In this way, Soren watched dozens of Crimean and Begnion soldiers dying around him, including their precious cavalry, while virtually no progress was made into the field. Turning his eyes to the sky, Soren wondered where Elincia was.

She and the others aerial units flew overhead a moment later, much to his relief. They surpassed the vanguard, flying just high enough to avoid the enemy arrows. The princess was flanked on either side by Jill and Haar, which must have been a surprising sight for any Daein who hadn’t heard rumors of the two traitors. Behind them on the right rode Marcia, who was leading ten Crimean pegasus knights who’d once been members of Queen Lenore’s royal guard and six Crimean postal workers who’d only been promoted to pegasus knight in the past week. Behind Elincia on the left flew Tanith, who was leading her twenty-four remaining Holy Guards, all of whom had proven themselves excellent warriors to have survived all the way from Tor Garen.

Each of these flyers had just picked up saddlebags from basecamp; one side was filled with glass decanters of oil while the other carried carefully-wrapped hot coals and short torches. They’d trained diligently for days to synchronize their speed, height, and drop time for a direct hit. Now they released the oil from a high altitude, splattering the wooden ballistae. When the machines were sufficiently doused, they dropped out of the sky, putting themselves at much greater risk from the Daein archers. But that didn’t stop them from taking the coals, crushing them to light the torches, and then tossed them onto the oil.

It was with great satisfaction that Soren saw one ballista after the next burst into flame in the distance. Elincia and her team retreated when all the catapults were burning, and the army cheered their return.

In response to this unexpectedly effective sabotage, the Daein infantry spilled from the earthworks. No longer wary of friendly fire from their artillery, they fought with no restraint and quite a bit of frustration.

A moment later, the Daein forces stationed near the ballistae-turned-bonfires ordered a cavalry charge. Their mounted units poured down the field, and Ike rushed to get pikemen assembled in time, but the frontlines were a mess of fighting and they couldn’t establish a proper defense. Geoffrey divided his forces to flank the incoming cavalry on either side, but even that was delayed. Soren found himself at the center of a bloodbath, and it was all he could do to stay alive. Those fortunate enough to be standing near an earthwork shelter threw themselves inside for cover, but the vast majority had no protection from the incoming wave of hooves and steel.

Soren was knocked to the ground, and a horse crushed his ankle. Gasping, he crawled toward a large corpse and curled up to make himself small underneath it. It was all he could do to avoid being trampled.

By the time the charge diffused, there was fighting all around him. But to stay in place would mean being either intentionally or accidentally killed. Pulling himself up, he collected a fallen spear and used it as a walking stick to retreat. He cursed the injury between incantations. This battle was still far from over, and he needed to hold out until the end.

Once Soren had been healed and the Liberation Army was fit to proceed again, they marched onward. Crossing another trench, they passed the still-smoldering remains of the catapults and fought their way through more chevaux-de-frise interspersed with Daein troops and more barricades sheltering Daein archers.

Another trench brought them within range of the second deployment of ballistae. They were stationed near the castle walls, but they were larger and their range longer. At least this meant the Liberation Army was getting close. Soren tried to determine how much time had passed. An hour? Two? Three? There was still so much ground to cover.

These trebuchets were hurting the Liberation Army even worse than the catapults. Something had to be done, but the same tactic wouldn’t work a second time. Learning from their previous loss, Daein had pulled back a legion of archers until each ballista was an island in a sea of arrowheads. If Elincia led her troops there now, not a single one would survive.

But Soren had a final trick up his sleeve. While he fought, he kept his eye on this legion, watching for the telltale ripples of panic in their ranks. The key here was Volke—or rather, him, Sothe, Ena, and the team they’d chosen for this mission. Volke’s secret regiment had splintered from the Gold Army before the first charge, moved around the castle fields via the city streets, and proceeded to enter the sewer canal. From here they’d waded their way through the castle’s waste water in a tunnel leading all the way to the wall. A thick grate barred entrance to the castle this way, but entry wasn’t necessary. The tunnel merely allowed Volke and the others to appear behind enemy lines undetected. By now they would be watching the battle, waiting for the right moment to strike the archers’ western flank from the rear.

The ripples of motion began, and Soren grinned. The archers surged backward, stopped in confusion, and surged again. Ena appeared suddenly, towering above them, monstrous and pink. Geoffrey and Elincia must have noticed this, because they signaled their troops to proceed with the second half of the strategy.

“Now!” Geoffrey roared. “We go straight through!” He gathered his riders, and they galloped as one to the western flank, pushing through the enemy ranks heedless of danger.

“Sally forth!” Elincia rallied her flyers, “We are not far now!” They charged above the stampede, quickly surpassing them. The princess then led the pegasi and two wyverns in a dive on the first trebuchet. Thanks to the confusion Volke and Ena were sewing, they managed not to become overwhelmed by arrows. While they moved down the line, cutting the sling ropes on each trebuchet, Geoffrey and the cavalry raced to support them.

Many died. The field hadn’t been cleared for them, and horses fell screaming with broken legs or with spears and pikes protruding from their chests. But the majority made it through, and the entire Daein defense was shocked and destabilized. Now it was Ike’s time to shine, and with Ranulf and Lucia at his side, he led the infantry in a charge. “We’re nearly there!” he promised his troops. “One final push!”

The confusion petered out, and Elincia’s aerial platoon was forced to retreat while still two trebuchets remained. But these were on the eastern side of the field, and now the entire Liberation Army had surged to the left, so the majority were safely out of range until the ballistae could be recalibrated. Ena reverted her form, and Geoffrey’s cavalry rescued her, Volke, Sothe, and the others. Then they made a hasty retreat to meet up with Ike’s assault.

When they did, a portion of the Daein army was separated from the other, and the Liberation archers fired mercilessly from all sides. The trapped soldiers frothed like a maelstrom until nearly all were dead. Only then did the Liberation Army retreat again, reforming their front line. This final ploy had cost many lives, but Daein had suffered more. That was what mattered.

The battle evened out, and both sides fought head-to-head in the shadow of the Melior Castle’s southern wall. Ike clearly enjoyed being able to fight in the lead again, after settling for cleaning up whatever soldiers the frontlines left behind or accidentally let pass. Although he’d certainly been fighting this whole time, it hadn’t been the chaos Soren knew he thrived in.

Ike’s visibility increased morale at a critical juncture, and now the siege truly began. The ladders and pavises were brought to the front, and the vanguard forced open channels between the enemy troops to get them to the walls. Once the ladders were in place, they needed to get as many soldiers as possible up onto the ramparts to take out the archers and mounted scorpions assailing the troops. Tanith and the aerial regiment were currently drawing much of their fire with adept loop-de-loops, but Elincia had fallen back to heal the injured. She was too important; and this stage of the battle was too dangerous.

Once the ladder troops were proceeding with their orders, Soren turned his attention to the main gate, which was east of his current position. Ike’s and Ranulf’s platoons were already surging to clear the way. The massive wooden gate and iron portcullis would have to fall sooner rather than later to spare the most lives.

Soren headed in that direction, but not before he glanced behind him. Daein’s fortifications were in shambles, and the wide field was a muddle of bodies. Supine or pronate, staring at the sky or the dirt, curled into a fetal position or bent into impossible, broken shapes, Crimean, Daein, or Begnion, cream, black, or crimson, veteran or new recruit—they were all just corpses now. A field of corpses. 

Turning his attention back to his task, Soren cast a few Elfire spells to help him reach the gate unharmed. The plan to remove the gate was his invention, and he couldn’t deny he was a little nervous it would fail. The logic at the core of his strategy was the simple fact that the gate was built in such a way that the portcullis fell until it hit the ground, and there it stopped. If he took away the ground, it would sink, become warped, and the mechanism break. But to do that, Soren would have to take away the ground.

While soldiers protected them with a cocoon of pavises, Soren, Bastian, Calill, Tormod, and Ilyana approached the gate. Here they would combine their power to cast what would hopefully be the most powerful Bolganone spell Tellius had ever seen. They chanted in unison, slowly, carefully, and some with eyes closed in prayer. When one spell ended, they began another. 

As one of the most powerful fire spells, Bolganone was designed to turn the ground at an opponent’s feet into a puddle of lava—a pit if they were adept, a wave if they were a master. When cast by five talented mages, the pool was deep and vast. The lava bubbled and swirled, and the portcullis sank into it. Its descent was uneven, leaning toward the side being cast by Tormod and Calill, around whom the air undulated in waves of heat.

The iron bars grew hot and started bending at the same time the lava burped up against the wooden doors, successfully setting them alight. The flames raced up the ancient planks, which burned bright before blackening and cracking like bones in a fire. The portcullis finally broke. A portion fell, followed by another break and another fall. The bars continued to melt. 

“Now!” Ike called, having been watching for this moment. Soren and the others pushed with all of their might, ending the last spell with a surge. The lava swept forward, swamping the remnants of the portcullis, taking a large bite out of the bottom of the burning gate, and spreading itself more thinly on the other side. Through the hole, Soren saw Daein boots backpedaling.

Now came the final step in his plan. Soren and the others switched to wind magic, which was why he was standing at the center, with Bastian behind him. They all cast Elwind spells, except for Bastian who cast Blizzard and Soren who cast Arcwind (a gift from Bastian).

The combined gusts suffocated the flames instantly, and Bastian’s Blizzard in particular helped cool the ground and calm the lava. The force of the attack (particularly Soren’s Arcwind), also served to knock down the weakened gate and topple the last part of the portcullis still leaning against it. By the time the winds stopped, the doors that had comprised the massive gate were nothing more than two charred slabs lying on the ground, with only splinters still clinging to the ancient hinges. The ground itself had been transformed into a flow of warped rock, melded with the iron grate. A few corroded spikes still protruded from it, but other than that, it was quite safe to walk on.

The entire process had taken only a few minutes, but Soren was dizzy and panting hard. Expending so much magic at one time had felt like he’d been casting part of his very life force out of his body. But he was still conscious, still alive, and his plan had worked. Due to the scarcity of Bolganone spells, they’d never been able to practice this at Pinell. Success was a relief, no matter the toll.

No one in the history of Tellius had ever tried to get through such a mighty gate using only magic, let alone succeeded—which was probably why the Daein soldiers on the other side were staring in absolute shock instead of attacking.

“We’re through!” Ike announced, although it was obvious. He raised his sword and led the charge himself. Only then did the Daein soldiers inside the bailey seemed to remember their training and set up shield walls.

Some of the scorpions on the wall were pivoted to fire inside, and as Soren proceeded into the bailey, he was cautious of the steel bolts. But before long, their engineers were slaughtered and replaced with Liberation archers climbing the ladders. They turned the ballistae against their owners and sent down a cascade of arrows to help the invading troops.

Eventually the main bailey and surrounding courtyards were firmly under the Liberation Army’s control, and the Daein forces fell back to join garrisons deeper in the castle. The battle beyond the walls was wrapping up as well.

Soren looked around and was dismayed to see so few of the Gold Army was fit to continue. This battle wasn’t over yet, and if they didn’t defeat Ashnard soon, Daein would rally and purge them from the castle.

Ike was calling the Greil Regiment together, and fortunately they were all still alive. Members of the Greil Regiment with serious injuries were given priority, and when they were all healed, they prepared to move out. After fighting this whole time, they were far more battered and exhausted than was ideal—Soren included. He wondered how they could face Ashnard and his personal guard like this, but he didn’t voice his doubts aloud.

“We can do this,” Titania said softly, as if reading his mind. Soren startled and glanced at her, but she wasn’t looking at him and he wasn’t sure she’d been speaking to him at all.

While they made their way to the royal gardens, the Crimean and Begnion lieutenants would continue the siege. One small battalion would take the library, another the temple. The majority would seize the palace.

“Keep the Daein Army from surrounding us,” Ike told the man in charge of this battalion, clapping him on the shoulder. He was one of the Begnion lieutenants who’d fought with them since Tor Garen. “We’ll take care of King Ashnard and the rest.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the lieutenant with a salute. “We leave our trust in you.”

Ike nodded, released him, and turned without another word. He fell in step with Elincia’s pegasus on his right and Titania’s stallion on his left. Soren was right behind him.


	18. CHAPTER 49: ENDGAME

When they reached the entrance to the gardens, Ike held up one bloody fist to call them to a halt. They were standing in a dimly lit stone corridor, and everyone was silent. “Before we go out there, there’s something I want to say… I was thinking just now, about how I would like to die.” His voice was wistful but strong. There was blood on his jaw and neck from a wound he’d receiving getting them here. “The obvious scenario came to mind: at home, surrounded by friends and family, no regrets—that sort of thing.” He shook his head. “But then I realized…the battlefield is my home, _you_ are all my friends and family, and I have _no_ regrets. Fighting beside you has been the greatest honor, and if I should die today, I can think of no better way to go.” He saluted, and every mercenary and soldier saluted back. Even Elincia. Even Soren.

Ike turned to the doors between them and Ashnard. They weren’t locked, so he and the princess each laid a hand on one and pushed them open together. The Greil Regiment marched into the gardens, which was blinding with daylight after the dark corridor.

The courtyard was teaming with soldiers, but no one attacked yet. The forty members of Ike’s party stepped into formation. Elincia mounted her pegasus, still standing right beside him. Soren stood behind them, in a row with Titania, Ranulf, Ena, Bastian, Geoffrey, and Lucia.

An enormous black shape was flying toward them from the opposite end of the gardens. “Heads up!” Ike called. With one hand he signaled that the company should standby, and with the other he drew his sword.

“It’s…it’s him…” Elincia murmured. She walked her pegasus forward just as the creature landed before her.

It was the largest wyvern Soren had ever seen, and atop it sat a man wearing ornate black armor and a billowing red cloak. His face was very pale, but he didn’t appear sickly. He was massively built and wielded an incredibly large, jagged-edged sword. His hair and beard were dark blue, and his eyes were like pits below his brow.

“Elincia, what are you doing?” Ike hissed, “Get back!”

The king’s mount released a jet of blue flame in front of her hooves. The pegasus danced in fear, but Elincia gripped the reigns firmly and maintained control. Soren was shocked, not because of Elincia’s steadfastness, but because wyverns didn’t breathe fire. It seemed obvious in retrospect, but this wasn’t a wyvern at all. It was a feral dragon—a royal black dragon in fact. And unlike the beasts at Gritnea Tower, this one had been completely broken to the Mad King’s will.

“Ashnard,” Elincia acknowledged him solemnly.

“King Daein,” Ike growled, but the king didn’t look at him.

He was assessing Elincia and chuckling. “It’s been a long time, Princess Crimea.”

Elincia just glared back.

“You look quite different than you did the day I cut your father and mother down like cattle,” he continued, “I can hardly believe you’re the same little girl who did nothing but tremble and stare.”

This was news to Soren and apparently to Ike as well, judging by his expression. Elincia had never mentioned witnessing her parents’ death.

“You-you craven-” she growled through gritted teeth. “I’ve returned to see you defeated! I will no longer allow you to treat Crimea any way you please!”

Ashnard laughed again. “How brave and noble of you. However, you are not the one I seek.” He flicked his reigns, and his reptilian steed shifted onto its back legs, swiping at Elincia with its forepaws. Her pegasus whinnied and reared back, batting its wings and narrowly avoiding the blow.

“Elincia!” Ike cried, launching himself between her and Ashnard.

“Are you the one they say is the son of Gawain?” Ashnard asked, finally giving Ike his full attention. The dragon lowered itself onto its forelegs again.

“King Ashnard of Daein! Your treachery dies on my blade!” Ike answered.

“Is that so?” Ashnard laughed again. “I see that blade in your hand… It is blessed, is it not? The only type of blade that can pierce my armor.” He beat his hand against his breastplate to punctuate his words. “But it matters not how famous the blade. If the wielder lacks skill, the greatest sword is nothing but blunted steel.”

The strategy for defeating Ashnard didn’t account for his armor being as heavily enchanted as the Black Knight’s. But it had always been a possibility. Rather than attacking the king together, Ike would have to fight alone.

“Don’t worry. You’ll see for yourself how blunt it is.” Ike sounded confident enough, but that didn’t mean he could defeat him—especially if Ashnard used the medallion. Soren shivered at the thought. 

“I expect good things from you, son of Gawain.” Ashnard cast his arms wide as if to show off the castle gardens (which were trampled, unruly, and had seen better days). “What you see before you are my elite, handpicked soldiers. How will you deal with them? I’m looking forward to watching you, so you’d best not disappoint.” With a kick and a flick of his reins, the dragon launched into the air.

“Wait!” Ike shouted, but there was nothing he could do. Ashnard flew over their heads, banked sharply, and then glided all the way to the raised balcony on the opposite end of the courtyard. From there he would be able to observe the entire battle. Ike turned to his mercenaries. “Any of you whose arms remember what it is to battle, step forth! I would take of your strength now!”

The company charged. Soren’s legs churned with the rest, running to meet the first line of Daein knights. As expected, these were no common soldiers. Each one was a challenge to vanquish. They were quick, strong, and cunning. There were feral laguz deployed in the gardens as well: a couple tigers, a few cats, and four dragons from what he could see.

Once the first group had been cleared, Soren fell back. As was the plan, he and Bastian used the long-distance spells Bolting, Meteor, and Blizzard to thin the herd and aid their companions. However, these spells were relatively rare, and they quickly depleted their supply. Once they did, the pair raced to rejoin the others.

With these opponents, each altercation seemed a lengthy duel. No one went down easily. Every single one seemed to be an expert at predicting and avoiding basic magical attacks, so Soren was forced to resort to the strongest spells in his repertoire—the most advanced of which were the two pages of Arcwind Bastian had given him. He could also summon Tornado, Thoron, and Bolganone, but these spells required a lot of power and concentration and exhausted him. He wondered with each incantation if it would be his last, but he had no choice but to take that chance. As Ike had said, now was the time to use every drop of strength he had left.

“*Spirits of lightning, surge great and lay waste to my enemy!*” Soren called and blasted a tall red dragon with a ball of lightning. The spell caused his own hair to stand on end, and he could hear the electric current crackling beneath the beast’s scales. He sustained it until the dragon hit the ground, dead but still convulsing.

“What does it take to kill these things?” Shinon complained as he pulled an arrow from its scaly hide. Finding the head still intact, he knocked it and sent it flying into the neck of a paladin charging toward them. The knight gurgled in surprise and fell from her saddle. The horse kept charging, and Soren and Shinon had to throw themselves into a crushed rosebush to make way.

They scrambled up again to avoid getting stepped on by Ena’s giant foot, and Shinon loped in another direction while Soren remained. Ena was only stumbling backward because a party of four archers were shooting at her face and she had her eyes closed and her forelegs raised to cover them. Soren started chanting simple Wind spells to protect her, while Titania came in for a rescue.

“ _Yaaahh!_ ” she yelled, urging her steed forward and trampling one of the archers. She tried to cut down another with her poleax, but the soldier blocked the attack with his bow and rolled out of the way. She rounded on him, and they traded blows

Meanwhile, Ranulf bounded toward another in a streak of blue fur and sunk his teeth deep into the man’s neck. But the bite wasn’t deep enough. His jugular was spared, and Ranulf’s lower teeth were stuck in his leather gorget. The archer drew a knife and stabbed backwards into Ranulf’s underbelly.

While they continued to fight, Ena had regained her ability to see and shot a burst of flame at the remaining two. They both evaded the blast, and Soren engaged one while Janaff descended on the other. He lifted her into the air and only dropped her when she managed to extract her own knife and slice the back of his skinny leg. She tried to catch herself in a roll when she fell, but her neck snapped and she didn’t move again. Although he was the victor, Janaff clearly wasn’t happy about it.

“Whatcha have to do that for?” he complained. “Oh Ashera, I can’t feel my toes!”

Soren ignored him because he was still fighting the fourth archer and having a hard time. This soldier was quite nimble and had sharp instincts. He always managed to avoid the worst of whatever Elwind or Tornado spell Soren managed to summon. Then, in one swift movement, the archer rolled onto his feet and pulled off a shot. Soren tried to avoid the arrow, but it embedded itself in his arm. The force yanked his shoulder out of its socket and knocked him to the ground. Luckily Ena roasted the archer before he could release another arrow.

Soren nodded up at her in thanks, and she inclined her reptilian head before moving on. There were many more enemies to fight, which meant Soren needed to return to the fray as soon as possible. Taking a steadying breath, he got himself up using his good arm. Then he scanned the gardens looking for a healer. Mist wasn’t far away, fighting in tandem with Mia. She’d lost her horse out on the battlefield and was now fighting (and healing) on foot.

Soren made his way toward them, and when Mist spotted him, she said something to Mia, who nodded and said something in reply. Mist darted off to meet him halfway, and Mia scooped up an opponent’s fallen sword. She fought on with two blades as if to make up for the loss of her friend.

“Hold still,” Mist said, but she was already yanking the arrow out. Then she jolted the arm back into place with such practiced ease that Soren realized she was taller than him now and certainly stronger.

Drawing her staff, she whispered, “*Mend*,” and the hole closed seamlessly. The joint clicked and was sore to move, but he hadn’t lost much blood. He could still fight.

“Mist!” Mia shouted. “Over there!” She stopped fighting just long enough to point the tip of one sword to where Ike, Boyd, and Mordecai were fighting at the base of the stairs leading to Ashnard’s perch. They were matched against eight halberdiers and two archers. Soren could tell Boyd was bleeding badly, even at this distance. Every time he tried to stand up, he stumbled back again.

“Hang on, Boyd!” Mist cried, although the trio were still too far away to hear her. In a moment, she was gone.

Soren spared a Thoron spell to aid Mia and give her the advantage she needed to best two of her opponents. But then he was hurrying after Mist. He wanted to aid Ike too.

Unfortunately his haste made him careless, and he was knocked to the ground by a feral laguz leaping out of a shrubbery. Hitting the ground brought stars to his eyes. The cat’s front paws dug into his shoulders, and its rear claws found purchase in his legs, completely immobilizing him. Its frothing mouth came in for the kill, and although Soren struggled and tried to form the words of a spell, his brain no longer seemed fully connected to his tongue.

The cat slumped a moment later, and Soren rolled it off. To arrows were sticking out of its side, and when Soren looked where they’d come from, he saw Rolf and Astrid not far away.

“You’re welcome!” Rolf cheered, and Astrid leaned over in her saddle so he could slap her palm. Then she trotted away, and Rolf went in search of new opponents.

Touching the back of his head and finding only a little blood, Soren rose and set his eyes on where Ike and the others were fighting. Even before his vision steadied, he recognized that they were in dire straits. They’d lost ground and been forced off the stairs, and now they were fighting enemies above and below.

Soren made his way more carefully now, checking his periphery and trying to use all his senses. He was still far from Ike when a large shadow suddenly swept over them. Naesala dove out of the sky a moment later, transformed midair, and knocking all of the halberdiers off their feet. Then he ripped into them with his talons and beak, killing three before the others could rise. His surprise appearance gave Ike and the others a chance to eliminate their unbalanced opponents and regain lost ground. Soren didn’t know why the Raven King had left the eastern front, but he was glad he was on their side.

With Naesala’s help, the situation on the stairs had swiftly turned in the Greil Regiment’s favor. As much as Soren longed to fight at Ike’s side and reach Ashnard as soon as possible, he knew that was no longer where he was most needed.

He cast his eyes over the courtyard to assess the situation while his mind cleared. Tauroneo was fighting in a nearby gazebo, locked in battle with a heavily armored man Soren recognized as General Bryce, the last of Daein’s Four Riders. Geoffrey and Lucia were fighting outside the gazebo, apparently keeping Bryce’s guardsmen away from the two generals. Despite fighting on the frontlines most of the day, both nobles seemed to have energy left, and Soren didn’t think he needed to intervene.

He kept searching and saw Lethe and Muarim laying waste to a phalanx of axmen. When one tried to escape, Tormod burnt him to a crisp. Lethe inclined her head in thanks, and Muarim said something Soren couldn’t hear. But his feline face was smiling proudly.

Farther into the garden, Largo and Calill were taking on a squadron of swordsmen. The pair almost looked like they were dancing (or at least, striking flirtatious poses with each spell-cast and ax-swing). Soren didn’t want to get involved in that, so he kept looking.

Jill and Haar were battling a couple dracoknights over the gabled roofs and jutting balconies encasing the courtyard, but they hardly seemed to need his aid. Elincia, Marcia, and Tanith were keeping the other dracoknights occupied, but they were fighting so high in the air, Soren couldn’t help even if he wanted to.

Ulki was fighting closer to the ground, but he was currently working with Kieran and neither seemed to need Soren’s help. Ulki was chasing paladins, whose horses he whipped into a frenzy with his predatory shrieks, and he chased them right to Kieran, whose axe found their twisted necks when they looked over their shoulders at the hawk.

Soren heard someone charging him from behind and pivoted while chanting a Tornado spell: “*Spirits of wind, rip apart these skies, lay waste to my enemy!*” he called, managing to finish it before they reached him. Swirling winds enveloped the two swordswomen, but they were well-trained and immediately hit the ground, covering their heads.

When the spell faded, they stood again. The armor and flesh of their backs had been rent, but they were still quite alive. They ran toward Soren in unison, and he narrowly dodged their strikes while muttering additional spells.

They were too fast, and Soren was too tired. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up, and the spells he was casting only gave him brief moments of reprieve. The women never succumbed to them.

But then help arrived. With the harsh clang of steel on steel, Zihark and Stefan each caught one of the blades on their own. Stefan winked, and Soren glowered before ducking to safety. Blades clanged erratically as the four fought, and Soren provided assistance with some well-timed Elthunder spells. Eventually the two soldiers were overpowered and defeated.

More were on their way, but Soren left Zihark and Stefan to take care of these newcomers themselves, because Gatrie’s voice had just called for help.

“Woah, somebody, we’re getting a bit touchy over here!” he called nervously before grunting and swearing. Soren ran toward the sound and soon saw Brom and Gatrie fending off a squadron of mages in the corner of the garden. A dozen other bodies already littered the ground: evidence of an intense fight.

“Ooo, hot, hot hot!” sang Brom when a fire mage tried to melt his helmet onto his head. Luckily he wrenched it off quickly enough and saved himself a lot of pain. As soon as Soren was within range, he began casting Elwind spells.

Rhys was behind the two shield knights, and Oscar and Makalov were lying in front of him, both apparently unconscious. Their horses appeared injured too, and one was lying down, panting hard.

“Hold on,” Rhys was murmuring to himself, and his arms were bloody up to his elbows. Seizing his staff from the ground, he seemed to be holding Oscar’s intestines in place while he healed the wound. “Hold on. Hold on.” he continued. “Stay with me.”

Soren switched exclusively to Tornado spells, trying to weave a wall of slicing blades that would shred anyone trying to get close to the healer. Once Gatrie realized what he was doing, he threw a mage into the torrent. Once he was dead, Soren manipulated the winds to lash out against the other mages.

A trio of axe paladins were running toward them, and Soren suspected his winds wouldn’t be enough to stop the horses’ charge or penetrate their steel barding. Fortunately, however, Soren hadn’t been the only one to hear Gatrie’s cry. Nephenee and Ilyana were on their way and arrived ahead of the Daeins.

Nephenee launched a spear into one of the horses’ necks, and the animal went down with a strangled scream. The rider fell with it, and before he could disentangle his crushed leg, Ilyana struck him with lightning, frying him on the spot.

“Take that, yer vil’nous sacks of ‘nure!” Nephenee spat.

“Yes, take that!” Ilyana agreed softly.

The other two horsemen were rounding on them, but Soren was prepared with a Bolganone spell. He cast it at the horses’ hooves, which sank into the molten earth, stopping their charge in an instant. One horse escaped, whinnying as fire surged up its legs, but the other was stuck, screaming pitifully. A knife came out of nowhere, flying straight into its wide eye and piercing its brain. The corpse toppled, and the rider fell into the lava instead. Now he was screaming. Another knife ended his life in much the same way. Glancing over his shoulder, Soren spotted Sothe and Volke tucked in the shadow of a nearby arbor. Volke slunk away, but Sothe detached himself from the shadows and loped over.

“We borrowed some of Daein’s supplies,” he explained quietly before opening and dropping a sack of vulneraries and elixirs at Rhys’s side. “These should help, right?”

“They certainly do. Thank you.” He uncorked one to use on Makalov, and Soren was relieved to see Oscar had survived his ordeal. He was still unconscious, but at least his chest was rising and falling evenly.

Sothe had a Physic staff roped to his back, and he dropped it on the ground as well. Then he ran off without another word, pulling knives out of his pockets as he went.

The mages were dead and Nephenee and Ilyana had just eliminated the final paladin. Gatrie and Brom seemed like they wanted to stay and keep protecting this corner until their friends were revived, but Soren had no reason to stay. He jogged off to see where else he might be needed.

Ike was still on the steps to the balcony. The Daein soldiers were densest there, obviously intent on protecting their king. Ike seemed to have been separated from Naesala, Boyd, and Mordecai, who were fighting farther down the stairs. He had only Devdan at his side now, with Mist healing them from behind and Reyson singing galdr to keep them both fighting tirelessly.

Even with Mist and Reyson’s support, the situation didn’t look good. Soren hurried over as quickly as he could, and as he passed his comrades fighting, he realized, in amazement, that Daein was losing. Ike’s strongest were beating Ashnard’s strongest.

Soren, for one, was exhausted. His magical ability felt like it had been sapped dry, and his very soul felt empty. His sleeves and cloak were in tatters. His entire body ached and, in many places, he was still bleeding. His mental fog had ebbed, but his head still ached from his previous fall. He must have bit his tongue at that point as well, because his mouth kept filling with blood. As he ran toward the stairs, he realized he was limping slightly. His left ankle felt sore and swollen. Perhaps he’d rolled it avoiding an enemy attack; he couldn’t remember. But it was clear this battle was taking its toll.

He arrived just as several others did, because he hadn’t been the only one to notice the situation facing their commander. While Soren’s half surged to help him, Ranulf led the other half to the opposite side of the balcony, and in this way the mercenaries crawled up both sides of the symmetrical stairs. When Soren’s group reached the first landing, he paused a moment to survey the ravaged gardens. Dead Daeins lay everywhere, but Ike’s forces were pushing forward. He couldn’t see a single dead body that belonged to someone he knew. Shaking his head in bewilderment, he turned back the battle.

Ashnard and his dragon were all too visible now—and the Mad King’s laughter all too audible. “Yes, yes!” he called as he watched his own soldiers thrown off the landings or shoved down the steps. “More, more!”

Soren wondered if he was truly insane or if he thought every death brought him one step closer to releasing the dark god. At the thought of the medallion, Soren wondered if Ashnard had it somewhere on his person, and if so, why he hadn’t touched it yet. He could end this now if he wanted to. Then again, perhaps he didn’t want to.

Soren found himself subconsciously counting the deaths until every Daein except the king was lying still. Ashnard was still smiling, and he turned his dragon to face Ike. “Come, boy.”

“Stay back,” Ike warned his mercenaries, thrusting out an arm to stop them from charging the balcony. “None can injure him but me.”

Naesala landed beside him and Ena stepped up on the other side, both in their human forms. “I may not inflict much damage, but I am strong enough to help.” Her voice was quiet but filled with rage. “I would see this man dead.” She placed her palms together and transformed once more.

“I would as well,” Naesala agreed solemnly.

In reply, Ike merely raised his sword and stepped forward. Soren was glad he would not have to fight completely alone. But it was disconcerting that his allies in this final hour were once his enemies. Both were cunning laguz with secret motives Soren still couldn’t untangle. But they were Ike’s only hope now; Soren could do nothing.

Ashnard released a satisfied laugh. “Excellent! You’ve done well to have grown so strong. At last, I have gained a foe worthy enough to test my sword. Enjoy my might to your heart’s content.”

Ike scowled, moved Ragnell to his opposite hand, and widened his stance

“Ah, I remember that stance well. So your father taught you swordplay, did he? How very happy that makes me.” The king chuckled again.

“Mad King Ashnard! I will cut you down with this blade and end your reign of terror!”

“You? Cut me down?” The king released an amused sigh but then grew serious. “ _Good_.” He laughed again. “If you possess the strength, so be it. This is how all things should be.”

Ena and Naesala each took a step forward, but Ike raised a hand to stop them. “What are you talking about?” he demanded.

But it seemed Ashnard was done chatting. His dragon lunged forward and shot a jet of flame at Ike’s position, but he rolled forward to avoid it. Ashnard’s long sword swept down, nearly grazing his head, but Ike threw himself to the ground to dodge the blade. The dragon’s foreleg almost crushed him a moment later, but Ena smashed into the beast, saving him.

The dragon craned its neck to shoot fire at Ike again, but Ena trapped its head between her right foreleg and scaly body. Her movements were powerful yet careful—almost gentle.

Ike jumped up and began slashing the dragon’s legs and underbelly while Naesala distracted Ashnard with beak and talon. Minutes ticked by in which Ashnard seemed to play with the Raven King. The dragon struggled and shook in Ena’s grasp, while Ike avoiding its flailing wings, legs, and tail. But they were making no progress.

Suddenly, Naesala abandoned his assault on Ashnard and swooped toward Ike instead. Soren’s heart plunged for a moment, until he realized the raven had grabbed Ike under his arms—holding him securely without stabbing him. With a surge of his wings, he lifted Ike into the air, throwing him onto the dragon’s back behind the king.

Ena lost her hold on the dragon, but swiftly reclaimed it with a few bites and punches. Then she seemed to do her best to hold it still while Ike got unsteadily to his feet. Ashnard undid the straps on his legs and stood among the dragon’s crooked spines. He was still laughing, apparently entirely at ease standing on their narrow, precarious, surging battleground. Ike kept his footing, attacking from one side while Naesala fought on the other.

Down below, Soren could do nothing but watch. Reyson was singing galdr, and Elincia had appropriated Rhys’s Physic staff to heal them at a distance. But everyone else was useless.

That being said, this was a battle teetering on the edge of a knife. It couldn’t last forever. One side or the other would have to give. Naesala was still attacking Ashnard from the side of the dragon’s head, Ike from the side of the tail. And yet Ashnard fended them both. Soren marveled at his skill.

Then, with a sudden backward arc of his sword, Ashnard struck Naesala in the center of his body. The bird crashed into the dragon’s side, leaving a bloody streak as it slid to the ground.

“Naesala!” Ike bellowed, but he didn’t stop fighting. The flurry of his sword grew more intense—to King Daein’s ecstatic pleasure.

“Ouch,” Naesala croaked, and he momentarily flickered from his raven to human shape as he struggled to remain transformed. Then he finally settled back into his bird form and rolled under the dragon. Scratching upward with his talons, he successfully tore open the wounds Ike had gouged into the reptile’s underbelly. The beast was spilling blood now.

Up above, Ike finally got behind Ashnard’s guard. With a furious shriek, he disarmed the man, and his sword fell to the ground next to a surprised-looking Naesala. The Mad King tried to keep fighting without a sword, and for a few moments, Soren heard the ring of Ike’s blade against his gauntlets almost as often as his fists colliding with Ike’s body. Even now Ashnard still looked happy, and he still didn’t use the medallion.

Then—finally—with an even louder, more broken-sounding cry, Ike sheathed his sword in the king’s flesh.

“Excellent… Excellent!” His chuckles were much weaker now. “So good! More…more, I say! At this time of ascension, it’s not, ugh…not…enough…”

The dragon wrenched itself out of Ena’s grasp and headbutted her before toppling. Ena slid backward, reverted her form, and fell to her knees. Naesala barely got out from under the dragon in time—crawling away with a broken wing and what must be serious abdominal injuries—and Ashnard and Ike were sent flying from its back.

Rhys and Ranulf ran forward. Ranulf pulled the Raven King to safety as the dragon continued to writhe, and Rhys wasted no time tending his injures, which looked even ghastlier in his human form.

Ashnard’s and Ike’s bodies had both rolled across the stone floor, but neither fell over the balcony’s edge, and after a moment, Ike’s got up again. He was gripping his left arm with a pained expression, and Soren guessed it had been dislocated, if not broken, by the fall. He stumbled over to Ashnard’s body and pulled his sword free with his good arm.

Ike’s loyal mercenaries, soldiers, and miscreants surged to congratulate him and see for themselves that the Mad King was dead. Soren was at the front of the line.

“Now…it is truly over,” Ike said hollowly.

Titania clapped him on the back, causing him to wince in pain.

“Ike!” Elincia called, pointing to the sky. “Tibarn and his men have arrived!”

Sure enough, the hawks appeared over the courtyard’s gabled roofs. Laguz and beorc spilled into the gardens a moment later. Apparently the battle had been won on all fronts. Everyone stood immobile, stunned that it was truly over—all except Ena, who ran toward Ashnard’s dying steed.

“Ena, stay back! The king’s mount is still alive!” Ike warned. Those closest to Ena tried to grab her, but she was too quick and only stopped only when she was standing in front of its fanged snout. When she stretched out her hand, the dragon’s nostrils flared, its eyes shot open, and its entire body shuddered.

“Stay back!” Ike called.

The dragon arched its back and roared into Ena’s face.

“Ena!” he lunged forward with his sword raised, despite his other arm hanging limp.

“No!” Elincia screamed.

But their concern was unnecessary. The dragon didn’t breathe fire or bite down. Instead it calmed and rested its head on the ground. Ena pressed her entire body against it, eyes closed. “ _Rajaion_ ,” she breathed.

Everyone was watching her now. Leanne and Tibarn landed beside Reyson, and the heron princess began twittering urgently in the ancient language. Reyson replied in kind.

“What’s going on?” Ike asked, as confused as the rest.

“Be patient, please,” Reyson said, raising a hand. “There’s something we want to try.”

“Huh?” Ike raised an eyebrow.

A moment later, Reyson and Leanne began singing and walking toward the feral dragon with palms out. It was the same melody that they’d sung to heal the Serenes Forest. But there were no plants growing here, the mercenaries didn’t seem any more refreshed (Soren certainly didn’t feel any better), and their wounds weren’t healing miraculously. It seemed the heron siblings were focusing all of their energy on the dragon, which was now glowing slightly.

Both Leanne’s and Reyson’s faces looked pained, which Soren supposed meant whatever they were trying to do was more difficult than bringing an entire forest back to life. Finally, their song ended, and with its final verse, Ashnard’s dragon turned into man.

His skin was dark like all Goldoans Soren had met, and like Nasir, Ena, and the dragon prince, his forehead bore an ornate red mark. His black hair was long and ragged, and he was stark naked so Reyson slipped Tibarn’s coat off his shoulders and draped it over this man’s feeble-looking body. Tibarn seemed happy to help, but neither Ena nor the man seemed to notice the gesture. She drew his head into her lap.

“Leanne told me that dragon’s true form had been warped,” Reyson explained as he stepped back. “So we tried singing the galdr of rebirth…” He gestured at the result as if it should speak for itself.

“Ra…Rajai..on…” Ena sobbed softly over the man.

“Err…aah…” he replied. His eyes opened slightly.

“Raj? D-do you know who I am?” she asked, reaching to take his hand.

“E...Ena?”

“Yes, yes! You recognize me!” Her face broke into a huge grin despite the tears still streaming down her cheeks.

“You were…made to suffer…because of me… I’m sorry,” he said weakly.

Ena sniffed loudly. “Rajaion! Rajaion! Oh, Raj…”

The man—Rajaion—reached up to stroke her cheek with trembling fingers. “Ena… Let’s return to Goldoa. The two of us…together.”

“I will go anywhere, my love, as long as it is with you.” She kissed his forehead.

“Ena…from this day forward…forever…” With that, he shuddered and grew still.

His unfocused eyes stared at the sky until Ena closed them. “Oh, Raj…”

“He was one of the dragon tribe?” Ike asked, apparently still having trouble coming to terms with what he’d just seen.

“Yes,” Reyson snapped. Leanne offered a kinder answer in the ancient language, which of course, Ike couldn’t understand.

Ena continued to sob over Rajaion’s body, and all at once, everyone seemed to realized what they were doing—gaping like spectators at a very personal moment. They began talking meaninglessly with one another and wandering way from Ena, pretending they hadn’t just watched the entire episode.

Elincia went to check on Naesala, and leaving him in her care, Rhys approached Ike. “Good work, Commander,” he said, then gesturing at Ike’s arm, “Please, let me set that for you.”

Ike nodded, but his eyes were on Mist, who would normally have been the first to offer to tend his wounds. But she had just darted past Ena and Rajaion and now appeared to be searching for something, and Soren could guess what. Reaching Ashnard’s body, she pilfered his pockets until she found it: Lehran’s Medallion. It’d been wrapped in a velvet bag.

King Daein had been carrying it after all but had refused to use it. This confirmed Soren’s suspicions that the dark god’s power had never been a means to conquering Tellius. Ashnard had wanted only more battles to be fought and more lives lost until the god was somehow freed; even if one of those lives had been his own. Soren supposed his dedication was admirable, even if he’d probably been deranged from the outset.

Clearly relieved, Mist held the medallion to her chest and walked over to the tired-looking heron siblings. Holding it out to them, she asked they take it from now on. Leanne smiled graciously and accepted the medallion, apparently able to handle it without concern, but Reyson seemed uncomfortable and didn’t touch it. Leanne held up her cascades of pale gold hair while Mist clasped the silver chain around her neck.

Watching them, Soren recalled the medallion falling from Elena’s hand, covered in blood. He’d never been able to see it without those bloodstains, and he still saw them now. He would never forget the power the simple bronze disc contained, not after witnessing a fragment of that power in action. That medallion had terrified him, forcing him to leave Ike and Greil all those years ago. In a way, he was glad it wouldn’t be a danger to anyone else anymore.


	19. CHAPTER 50: CORONATION

Following the victory at Melior, Elincia hosted what may have been the largest impromptu party the city had ever seen. Every soldier and member of the citizenry from Melior and the surrounding towns celebrated their hard-won freedom. The caches of food and drink Ashnard had stolen from the people were returned to them and consumed all at once. Beorc and laguz reveled side by side, and the festivities continued for over twenty-four hours.

Soren did his best to lie low and wait it out. The battle had left him feeling like he could sleep a hundred years, and the onslaught of noise and drunken behavior grated on his nerves. He was certain everyone was equally exhausted, and yet they still had enough energy to embarrass themselves and make themselves sick. Soldiers and mercenaries, knights and peasants, Gallians and Crimeans—they all reenacted moments from the battle, shared stories (which meant embellishing them with each retelling), and spoke excitedly about all the things they were going to do now that the war was over.

But this could only go on so long. Eventually everyone remembered that their friends and comrades had died beside them in those stories, and that the only difference between them and the storytellers was luck. Eventually everyone remembered that more than half of those who’d marched on Melior had not lived to dream of the future they’d fought for.

When this realization set in, the army embraced the task of burying their dead. The food and drink they’d enjoyed turned sour in their stomachs. At first this was a welcome reprieve, but Soren didn’t enjoy being surrounded by mopey, listless men and women either. He hoped these days would pass quickly and whatever days the future held would come soon.

Soren filled his time organizing small excursions to seize the remaining Daein outposts and ensure each town was purged of Daein occupation. But these missions required very little care or planning. Word of Ashnard’s defeat spread faster than wildfire, and the surviving soldiers were fleeing Crimea like rats from a burning building.

Pegasus riders brought reports that the first group of prisoners, those from Pinell and Nados, had arrived safely in Daein, where the Imperial Army had been waiting to clap them in irons and assign them to a register. There were also rumors that these prisoners were being ferried to work camps instead of being returned to their homes and families. Additional rumors said commanders and officers of every rank were being taken separately, interrogated, and hanged. The pegasus riders Soren debriefed hadn’t seen or heard anything to confirm such hearsay. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t tempted to believe it.

On the other hand, when Crimean forces managed to capture Daein troops, the officers and commanders were merely imprisoned until any potential war crimes could be investigated. The regular soldiers were always allowed to return to Daein (and whatever fate Begnion allowed them). Soren thought Elincia was being unbelievably soft. But he was Ike’s adviser, not hers.

The princess would have plenty of her own advisers soon enough. Only four days had passed since the battle, and already Crimean nobles were arriving in Melior. They had used their money and resources to remain underground during the occupation. Some had undoubtedly served Ashnard and helped him maintain a hold on the country. Even those who had committed no blatant treachery had refused to resurface and support Elincia during the rebellion. Yet they had the audacity to arrive now, surrounded by their personal guards, and sing her praises.

And they weren’t the only ones to arrive late. General Zelgius, Prime Minister Sephiran, and an army of five thousand Begnion soldiers had arrived just two days after the victory at Melior. Once again, their swift arrival meant they’d set out long before hearing of Crimea’s victory. Zelgius claimed they’d come to lend support for the final battle but arrived too late. Ever a gracious host, Elincia invited them to rest a few days before returning to Daein. The few Begnion soldiers who’d fought in the Crimea Liberation Army and survived the war would go with them. But Tanith was heading directly to Sienne to report to the apostle. Astrid, Devdan, Marcia, and Makalov were returning to Begnion as well, but amidst tears and hugs there were promises of return.

Their departure occurred on the fifth day, and this was also the day the rest of the non-Crimeans prepared to go their separate ways. Tibarn, Naesala, and the few surviving hawks were going back to their islands. Ranulf, Giffca, and the surviving beast laguz were going back to Gallia, and they were taking Reyson and Leanne with them for a visit. 

Tormod, Muarim, and Stefan would return to the Grann Desert. Predictably, Stefan pulled Soren aside and offered he join them. Soren refused. Now that Ike knew he was a Branded and accepted him anyway, he refused to leave him. Even if Ike disbanded the mercenaries and decided to live here with Elincia, Soren would find some way to serve him.

Zihark, Sothe, Tauroneo, Jill, and Haar were returning to Daein (ahead of Zelgius’s army), and each were given identification papers so they wouldn’t be mistaken for Daein soldiers. No doubt they wondered about the changes their nation would soon face under Begnion rule. Ashnard had no heir, so there was no one to represent the people and resist the apostle’s control.

The rest of the army, including the Greil Mercenaries, were staying in Crimea. After their friends had gone, Ike held a private dinner with the mercenaries (plus Mia and Volke) in one of the palace’s smaller, more intimate halls. Throughout the meal, Soren had a foreboding feeling that some sort of announcement was imminent, and he imagined Ike was about to call an end to the Greil Mercenaries. Needless to say, he didn’t have much appetite.

When only bones and crusts were left, Ike stood with a crystal goblet in hand. “For the past year, I’ve been focused on winning this war. I stand here today as a testament to your fortitude and commitment. I understand this will never suffice, but I wanted to take a moment to say something to you all…” He raised the glass in a toast. “Thank you. I hope I may continue to rely on you.”

Despite his trepidation of what was to come, Soren was the first to stand. “Of course. I hope that I may continue to be of service.”

Titania stood next, raised her glass high. “You’ve grown so much…” With her other hand, she wiped away the bud of a tear. “I would like nothing better than if Commander Greil and Elena could see you now.”

Next Oscar stood. “What a long road we’ve traveled! And yet, in many ways, it seemed to pass so quickly. I’m glad it’s finally over.”

“We did well, didn’t we?” Mist said next. “I’m sure Mother and Father would be proud of us.” She was seated at Ike’s right hand, but now she stood and wrapped an arm around his waist. He put his arm around her shoulders.

“Great job, Ike!” Boyd said, jumping to his feet. “Of course, if I hadn’t been by your side the whole time, victory might have slipped away.” He laughed, and Ike shook his head, smiling.

“Ike! Ike!” Rolf not only stood, but hopped onto his chair. “Er…I mean, Commander Ike! I’m going to keep practicing so I can be better than ever! Thanks for having faith in me.” Oscar gave Rolf a scolding glare that seemed to say I-taught-you-better-than-to-stand-on-the-furniture, and Rolf hopped down.

Meanwhile, Rhys gave his testimony: “Finally… It’s finally over. At long last, we can return to a life without war. Praise the Goddess.”

“Um, Ike,” Gatrie stood and raised his glass in his fist. “Are we going to go back to being mercenaries?” It was the question burning in Soren’s mind, and although he had no doubt they were all wondering, no one had dared ask until now. “I’m a great soldier and all, but…the easygoing life of a mercenary is the only life for me!”

Ike nodded firmly. “Yes.”

The relief was visible on everyone’s faces, and Soren felt an enormous weight had lifted from his shoulders.

Gatrie smiled sheepishly as if he’d been a fool for even having to ask. He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed. “Good, now all we have to do is find some good-looking lasses and our lives’ll be sweeter than honey!” He raised his glass high and drained it.

Shinon was next, and all eyes turned to him. He sat glowering into his drink instead of standing and raising it like the others. “ _Bah_ ,” he spat. “I suppose you want some kind of congratulations now, right? Well, too bad. You’re a snot-nosed whelp, and I’m still better than you. Don’t you forget it.”

Ike shook his head as if Shinon were no more than a rebellious child.

Next was Mia. “We did it! _Woooo-hooo!_ ” she hollered, then raising her glass so fast she sloshed half onto the table. “You know, I am completely in love with your fighting style, Ike. If I could train under you, thar would be great!” She lowered her glass slightly and donned a more modest expression. “So let me stick around for a while, alright?”

Ike nodded, smiling. “You are a welcome addition to the Greil Mercenaries.”

Last came Volke. He hadn’t spoken much during the meal, and he too didn’t stand. “I’ve no more work here,” he said quietly, addressing Ike. “I will be leaving shortly. If you have need of my services, you know how to reach me.”

Ike nodded solemnly. “I won’t forget what you did for me, or my father. We owe you a great deal.”

“You paid me,” Volke shook his head. “You owe me nothing. A mercenary should know that.”

Ike raised his glass higher. “To Greil,” he said.

“To Greil!” everyone repeated. Even Shinon stood now. Everyone drank deeply (except Gatrie who’d already drunk his) and sat down again.

The dinner having concluded, Volke slipped out, but the rest stayed to talk about what they would do next.

“Will you keep your title as a lord?” Titania asked Ike.

“No, I will renounce it as soon as Elincia is coronated,” Ike replied with surety, and Soren was surprised.

“How long will we stay in the capital?” Gatrie asked.

“I was hoping to leave as soon as possible,” Ike said, leaning forward and placing his forearms on the table. “After the coronation of course.”

“Will we go back to the old fort?” Mist asked.

Ike shrugged and looked to the others. “Is that what you’d all like to do?”

“I’d like to track down my parents,” Rhys admitted. “I hope they’re alright.”

“We can do that,” Ike said, nodding. “Anyone else have family? Mia?”

Mia shook her head. “None above the ground, and I never saw much use in visiting graves,” she said cheerily.

Ike knew the rest well enough to know there was no one else who needed to visit kin.

“I like the idea of returning,” Titania said, “But I wonder if the Greil Mercenaries could…branch out.”

“After all the time we spent in Begnion,” Rhys added, “We didn’t get to see much of it.”

“Let’s just _not_ go back to Sienne,” Boyd groaned. “It was so _boring.”_

Ike nodded. “I bet they need mercenaries in Begnion too.”

“I’d like to see Daein—as a traveler rather than an invader I mean,” Gatrie mused, rubbing his chin. “I hear the Daein lasses are something special.”

Ike nodded again. “How about seeing it as a mercenary for hire?”

Gatrie smiled. “Aye, that’d do.”

“So long as the gigs pay well,” Shinon groaned. “I’m not dragging my ass around all of Tellius for a copper piece.”

Ike leaned back in his chair. “We could take simple jobs. Maybe we won’t have to fight at all. We could just frighten away bandits and pirates. We’ll help the common folk, like Father did.”

“Easygoing life, like Gatrie said.” Shinon smiled at this thought. “Only life for me.”

“I am _still_ gonna become a better archer though,” Rolf assured.

“Ooh!” Mist said suddenly. “Do you suppose they might need mercenary work in Gallia? I’d like to visit Ranulf and the others.”

Ike grinned. “I’d like that too.”

“And let’s not forget dear old Crimea,” Mia proposed. “They’ll be a lot of work for us here too I reckon.”

“Ooh!” Rolf said next. “While we are in Begnion, let’s visit Astrid’s family. I hear they’re rich!”

Ike and the others laughed.

Next Ike turned to Soren. “Soren, you’ve been quiet.”

“Typical,” Boyd teased.

“Anywhere you recommend we go?”

Soren shook his head; he was still just glad Ike wouldn’t be staying in Melior with Elincia. “I will follow you anywhere,” he finally answered, “and I entirely trust your judgment in this.”

The mercenaries enjoyed themselves for the remainder of the evening, and Soren dared to feel content among them. But the next day, he stole himself for less pleasant company. Ena was taking Rajaion’s body back to Goldoa today, and Soren wished to speak with her before she disappeared forever. 

“Take care. Give my regards to Prince Kurthnaga,” were Ike’s parting words to her—words Soren overheard from just outside the door where he was waiting.

“Thank you. I will,” Ena replied. A moment later she appeared in the corridor. She seemed surprised when she saw him. “Oh!” she said. “Ike is free now, if you wish to speak-”

“Actually, I intended to have a word with you before you left.”

Ena seemed curious. “Well, my carriage is scheduled to leave soon. Would you walk with me?”

Soren shook his head. “I was hoping we could speak more privately. It will not take long.”

Ena hesitated.

“Surely they will not leave for Goldoa without you,” he reminded her.

Ena nodded and allowed Soren to lead her to a vacant parlor nearby. There were many quiet places in the palace these days, since the noble families had not all come out of hiding yet. Elincia still hadn’t hired a full staff either, so there was little chance of a servant walking in on them.

“You are Sir Ike’s tactician, yes?” Ena asked once they’d arrived.

“Yes, my name is Soren.”

“I remember you fought well at the battles of Gritnea and Melior,” Ena said politely.

Soren noticed she didn’t mention the battle of Nevassa, in which he and Ike had bested her, but he didn’t point this out. He did not bring her here to boast, nor make small talk. “You are a noblewoman from Goldoa, aren’t you?” Soren asked. “And your grandfather Nasir was as well? And your fiancé Rajaion, was _the_ Rajaion—son of Deghinsea and the crown prince of Goldoa?”

Ena seemed uncomfortable. “Who told you that?”

“The royal library.”

“What you say is true,” she admitted.

“Then tell me this—why did you three leave Goldoa? How did the crown prince become a mere mount for King Daein? Why did Nasir pretend to be a beorc sea captain? Why did he betray Gallia and Crimea for Daein? And why did you serve as Daein’s general in Nevassa?”

“Why are you asking all of these questions?” Ena hissed. She seemed pained to recall her lost loved ones, but Soren didn’t care.

No one else would question her because she was in mourning, but Soren only cared about answers. “Because no one else is, and they should be.”

“You’re wrong. Ike asked—out of sympathy.” Ena sighed, “But I understand what you mean. You want the whole story?”

“Yes.”

With arms crossed, Ena launched into it: “Three years ago, Rajaion left Goldoa to learn more about the outside world. It is forbidden, but some attempt it anyway. We lack wings or tails like our laguz brethren, so many of our kind believe they can pass as beorc if we are careful.” She paused a moment and let her arms drop. “Others went with him, only to be captured and turned feral...”

“Go on,” Soren prompted her.

Ena shook her head and continued more slowly. “When Rajaion did not return, I went after him. But I was too late. Ashnard had twisted him into something else. He didn’t even recognize me.”

“And yet you stayed?”

Ena nodded. “I couldn’t leave him, so I served Ashnard to stay close to him.”

“And Nasir?” Soren asked.

“He abandoned Goldoa for his own reasons, almost two centuries ago. When he learned of the trouble we were in, well…he served Ashnard to save me.”

“His own reasons?” Soren repeated.

Ena’s eyes flickered in irritation. “My mother and grandmother were claimed by the same illness,” she explained. “He thought beorc medicine would have saved them, but the King forbid it. After they died, he left in disgust. I was quite young at the time…”

“A simple chain of emotional pitfalls then,” Soren concluded. “You are telling me that Goldoa never formally supported Daein, nor intends harm to Crimea or desires the release of the dark god?”

“Quite the opposite. His Majesty King Deghinsea is adamant Goldoa remain neutral in all affairs, and he is equally adamant the Dark God never be released again.”

Soren nodded to show he believed her. The silence between them stretched. He felt he wanted to say more, but he couldn’t think what to ask. He had the impression she was keeping something from him, but he couldn’t imagine what. The way she’d explained things, it all made sense.

“Is that all you wanted?” Ena asked curiously. “To know Crimea and the medallion are safe from Goldoa?”

“Is that not worth wondering?” Soren shot back.

“Then I will be going.” She bowed her head politely before reaching for the door.

“Wait.” Soren stopped her. If she disappeared to Goldoa, he would likely never meet another dragon again. He had to ask, now or never.

“Have you thought of something else?”

“Do you-” Soren closed his eyes for a breath and gathered his nerve. “Do you know…what I am?”

Ena cocked her head and ran her soft blue eyes from his head to his toes. “You are one of the Parentless, yes?” she asked. Her voice held no judgment, and for that, Soren was relieved.

“It’s not something I want known,” he warned.

“Who would I tell?” Ena replied with a careless wave of her hand.

Satisfied his nature would remain secret, Soren continued: “It is said the dragons have the keenest sense of all the laguz.”

“It is true,” Ena agreed. It was clear from her expression that she was wondering where this was going.

Soren felt he was floundering but pressed on. “Between you and Nasir…dragons seem quite unlike other laguz. You _think_ and scheme, and…” Now Soren was wondering where he was going with this as well.

“What do you mean to ask?”

“Can you tell my parentage?” Soren finally blurted out. “Is there any way at all to determine who or what a Branded’s laguz ancestor was?”

“Oh.” Ena’s mouth remained in a little o-shape from a moment as she seemed to think how to respond. But then she shook her head. “Personally, I cannot. And if there are any who can, I have not heard of it. In Goldoa, we do not speak of your kind.”

Soren was embarrassed and waved his hand in a sharp, brief gesture to indicate she should just forget it. “Fine. Never mind then.”

“You think your laguz ancestor was Goldoan?”

Soren didn’t think he could be more embarrassed than he was now. “It was just a thought,” he said, and when Ena didn’t reply, he added quickly: “It’s just, the mark, the placement is like Nasir’s, Rajaion’s, yours.” He brushed his forehead as he spoke. He tried to keep his movements loose and natural, but his spine and limbs felt as stiff as a marionette.

Ena shrugged. “A laguz’s markings, and a Parentless as well, it is arbitrary, isn’t it?”

“Yes of course,” Soren agreed, feeling uncomfortable and clammy. “Thank you for your time.” He brushed passed her and left the room. He strode purposefully away but didn’t run. He knew she would know if he did, and he didn’t want to reveal his self-consciousness any more than he already had. Out of all laguz, Goldoan blood seemed the least terrible option. The dragons were strong and smart. They commanded the respect of everyone.

 _It was a foolish thought,_ Soren told himself. _It was foolish to ask._ But after a few minutes he was able to remind himself that Ena probably didn’t care. And at any rate, she was returning to Goldoa were she would remain in isolation with the rest of her people. As the centuries of her long life crawled by, she would likely never think of him again. It was a comforting thought.

Elincia’s coronation occurred two weeks after Ashnard’s death. The palace was bedecked with bouquets, pennants, and banners bearing Crimea’s emblem and colors. Thousands of tiger-eyed butterflies, one of Crimea’s most beloved symbols, had been captured for release at the moment of her crowning. The castle gardens, which had been burned, trodden, and watered with blood during the battle, had been plowed away and replanted with sod and flower bushes. This was where the Crimean nobles would sit (and lucky peasants stand) while Elincia was crowned on the spot where Ike had slain King Daein. Servants had scrubbed the balcony’s tiles for hours, but still the vast shadow of blood remained.

Soren stood on this balcony the morning of the coronation and watched dawn’s soft rays illuminate the courtyard. Spring was in full bloom, and the day promised to be a warm one. Servants were already arranging chairs and tables. There was to be a banquet and dancing after the ceremony. (Mist had been jabbering about it nonstop for three days.) But Soren was just waiting for this all to be over. He’d promised Ike he would attend the ceremony, but he wasn’t looking forward to it. He cared nothing for the coronation.

And yet he’d woken early and come to this spot, to stand where Elincia would stand in a few hours and become queen.

Soren had planned every battle of the war that had led to this day. He’d fought and bled and strived for this. In the beginning, he had advised Greil to turn Elincia over to Daein and take their side in the war. How long ago that seemed now. If Greil had done as Soren had advised, they would all be long dead. Daein had never intended to let them go free even if they had handed over the princess.

If Ike and the others had left Elincia on the roadside, they might have remained mercenaries in Crimea under Ashnard’s rule. But sooner or later the Daein Army would have demanded the mercenaries either turn over their weapons or work for them by terrorizing innocent Crimean civilians. Naturally, they would have refused and been out of the job.

The Black Knight would probably have found Greil no matter what, and killed him. That much had been inevitable.

If they hadn’t travelled south to gain Caineghis’s aid, the laguz nations wouldn’t have known until too late that Ashnard intended to invade Gallia as well. The Mad King would have sown his war across the continent. Then perhaps the dark god might have been revived; Soren wondered what that would have been like.

He continued watching the servants work. They moved around him now, setting up an ornate throne and positioning daises for the symbolic instruments of office to be displayed. They ignored him, and Soren ignored them.

 _Why did I come out here?_ he wondered again. _Is it because I think I deserve this more than Elincia? Do I think I could do a better job?_ The answer was obvious and immediate: no, he had no desire to rule over others. But perhaps he’d to come here to be sure of it. 

“Good morrow,” came Bastian’s voice behind him. Soren cursed the man’s soundless steps. “Have you come to observe the fair light of Ashera’s dawn on this historic day? Surely it should be recorded, put into song—the first verse of the ballad of Princess Elincia’s momentous coronation! The bards of the land will sing of it for centuries to come!”

“Is that why you are here?” Soren asked, refusing to answer. “To compose a ballad?”

Bastian stood beside him and sighed in satisfaction. His eyes were fixed on the sharp line between the castle roof and the sky. Soren assessed his ridiculous outfit. Apparently he’d dressed for the occasion, which meant brocade robes and more sparkling decorations than even Empress Sanaki had worn. Even his shoes were ridiculous—the toes pointed and curved up with golden bells dangling from the end. Soren realized how talented this man must be to approach unheard while wearing bells on his feet. Once again, Soren reminded himself that Bastian would be dangerous to underestimate.

“I have the honor of overseeing the preparations for the coronation. My presence should be of no surprise.”

“I’ll be going then,” was Sore’s reply. If Bastian wanted to talk to him, he would have to admit it and stop him.

Sure enough, he placed a hand on his turned shoulder. “Pray hold a moment, good sir.”

Soren shrugged off the hand and faced him with crossed arms. “Yes?”

“I must admit I have been wishing to speak with you. Rumors, like ghosts, flit here and there. Rumors that the Mercenaries of Greil will steal away like thieves in the night once the crown touches the princess’s radiant head. A loss, nay a torment, it would be if these rumors came true and I missed my chance to speak with you.”

It was true the mercenaries wanted to be on the road by nightfall. They’d been trying to keep this a secret, but Soren wasn’t surprised Bastian had uncovered the truth. “If we are going to talk, can you please speak normally?”

To this, Bastian just chuckled.

“Well?” Soren growled. “Are you going to ask me to impress upon Ike the importance that he stay and support the new queen?”

Bastian’s smile stretched upward and inward. “Oh, no,” he finally said. “Quite the opposite. Before lovely Elincia lies a path riddled with broken glass and biting rats. These are not the sort of enemies that can be slain with a sword. The time of battlefields is behind us.”

“Then what do you want?”

“The rumors, they murmur in the dark, whisper that the Mercenaries of Greil intend to leave Crimea. I quite like this idea. For a time, it is best that Ike and his treasured friends are out of dearest Elincia’s reach.”

“You want me to keep Ike out of Crimea?” Soren asked in disbelief.

“For a short while or two, yes. But I would much enjoy, Sir Soren, receiving a letter from you from time to time. I would like to offer the mercenaries work, if the need should arise.”

Soren said nothing. He turned Bastian’s offer over in his mind.

“I know no company more able, nor more reliable in a pinch. I take comfort in keeping track of such assets,” Bastian pressed.

Finally, Soren answered: “I will keep you apprised of our travels. But I expect such information to remain between us. And I expect you to pay well, if we accept a job from you.”

“Splendid!” Bastian seemed overjoyed. He took a deep breath through his nose and put his hands on his padded hips. “What a splendid day,” he addressed the gardens, the skyline, the servants who’d moved a polite distance away. “‘No matter how harsh the winter, spring will ever follow’—that is what the people are saying.”

“The citizens of Crimea are poets.” Soren left without another word, and Bastian didn’t stop him this time.

Mist had been buzzing with nervous energy all day. A set of ragged nerves she’d never displayed in battle were now exposed at the prospect of Elincia’s imminent coronation. She spent the morning running to and from Elincia’s side, ferrying messages, making preparations, and encouraging the young monarch. Soren only saw the princess once, and she seemed subdued. The excitement that seized her retainers and friends was invisible in her.

Ike was also behaving oddly and seemed to be avoiding the princess as much as possible, but this had been going on for days. Treating with Begnion’s envoy was a welcome distraction for him, and Soren found it intriguing as well. Although Zelgius and his army had retreated to Daein, Sanaki had bid Sephiran stay and witness Elincia’s accent to queenship in her place. The once-mysterious monk proved to be a wealth of information.

First he explained the identity of Altina, the woman whom the heron princess Lillia had wished to receive Lehran’s Medallion. Apparently ‘Altina’ was the little-known surname of Begnion’s line of apostles. That made young Sanaki the holder of the release galdr. However, the medallion wouldn’t be going to Begnion. It was to be safeguarded by the surviving herons now. This seemed prudent to Soren. After all, it was still a mystery why Lillia would have wanted the medallion in the hands of the one person who could willingly release the dark god.

Sephiran also announced the discovery of new evidence indicating Ashnard had been responsible for framing Serenes for the assassination of the Apostle Misaha. No one was surprised by this.

As a piece of parting advice, Sephiran apparently encouraged Ike to remain in Crimea and support the new queen. Ike smirked at this fact when describing the exchange to the mercenaries. “Little does he know our plans,” he said.

Soren considered the fact that Bastian and Sephiran, two peers of the realm, had offered contradictory advice. It appeared Bastian wanted Elincia to grow strong on her own, whereas Sephiran wanted her to continue to rely on Ike for the adoration of her people, the loyalty of her military, and the intimidation of her enemies at court. The motivations of both men were reasonable given their allegiance to Crimea and Begnion respectively.

Titania and Lucia arrived a few minutes after Ike finished his story. Like the rest of the mercenaries and soldiers in attendance, both women had dressed for the occasion. No one wore armor or was laden by weapons today—no one except Ike, who’d been allowed to carry Ragnell as a symbol of his rank. (That being said, it was considered a holy artifact and would be going to Begnion in the hands of Sephiran when all of this was over). Soren had reluctantly left his wind tome in his room and donned his new black robes. They were modestly embroidered with silver and jade thread to indicate his status as a wind sage (not that such recognition mattered to him), and even his shoes were new.

“Everyone looks lovely!” Titania beamed. But her eyes flashed when she saw an unruly curl bounce across Rolf’s forehead. She immediately wet her thumb and began forcing it back. Rolf squirmed, clearly embarrassed.

In addition to his sword, Ike wore his armor and a new cape. He would appear beside Elincia at the ceremony, and the coronation organizers thought it best if the audience recognize him for what he was: the hero who had saved Crimea. His armor had been buffed until it gleamed, and his new clothes had been purchased in careful replication of his usual attire. He even had a band around his head like he wore into battle. Surrounded by his unarmed, well-dressed companions, he was like a wolf among sheep—a wolf who would protect his sheep against any enemy.

“Is everyone ready?” Lucia asked pleasantly. “Ike?

He just nodded.

“I will take you to Princess Elincia,” Lucia said, gesturing that he should follow.

Titania released Rolf. “And I’ll lead the rest of you lot to our seats.”

The group divided, and Soren watched Ike depart with Lucia. His expression was uncharacteristically masked. As he followed Titania into the gardens and took his seat up front, Soren wondered if Ike could be suffering from a broken heart. He wondered if Elincia had rejected him or if he hadn’t yet confessed his love at all. This train of thought was unsettling, so Soren turned his mind to the state of Crimea instead.

If anything had become obvious over the past two weeks, it was that the common folk wished to sing Ike’s praises even more than Elincia’s. The people had become more warlike too. Children reenacted bloody battles in the streets, and as young men and women crawled out of the woodwork, they registered for the militia, enlisted as soldiers, or applied for a place among the Royal Knights in droves. Relatively fewer had signed up for the reconstruction corps, and far fewer had applied or re-applied to the royal academies. This was a considerable reversal of the nation Crimea used to be.

The barracks and military quarters, the defensive walls and gates, these had been fully repaired (or close to) in such short a time. And yet the once-proud Royal Library still sat in shambles. Soren would know—he’d spent much of the past two week there, sifting through information before anyone thought to start guarding it again. (All the old librarians had been killed or had fled.)

Crimea had changed. Hopefully it would be stronger now, but Soren saw the danger in Ike continuing to stay in court. His clout with the military combined with his close relationship with the queen would frame Elincia’s ascension as the advent of a martial regime.

Perhaps Ike saw the danger too, and that was why he’d been acting so strangely. Perhaps a part of him wanted to stay with Elincia, whom he obviously cared deeply for, even as the rest of him adamantly refused his lordship. Perhaps he wanted what was best for Crimea. Perhaps he was just being selfless. 

Soren’s musing ground to a halt when Ike and Elincia appeared on the balcony above. He was holding her hand, walking briskly, as she glided alongside him. When they reached the edge, they raised their clasped hands to thunderous applause. Their names were shouted from all sides, and the mercenaries whooped and hollered next to Soren.

When the applause finally subsided, the ceremony began. Ike dropped Elincia’s hand and stepped to the back of the balcony. There he sat in a fancy chair and watched the magistrates perform the numerous rituals necessary for the induction of a new queen. The ceremony stretched on for over an hour and was quite boring.

When it was finally complete, the festivities began. Music played, food was served, barrels of ale and wine were rolled out, and servants spilled into the garden to rearrange the furniture and open the doors to the main entertainment hall. Soren retreated to the walls and shadowy corners, where he could see everything but remain unnoticed. He watched Ike shake countless hands and exchange pleasantries, clearly out of his depth.

The war was over.

After several hours the sun began to set, and Soren retreated to his room. The party would continue all night—after all, Crimea had much to celebrate—but the mercenaries had all agreed to meet in the stables an hour after sunset. On his way to his quarters, he stopped by the stable and ordered the servants to prepare their horses and hitch up the cart they’d packed earlier.

The stable hands were clumsy, slow, and prone to bouts of giggles, and Soren realized they’d been drinking. Of course, the nobles, soldiers, and their families weren’t the only ones celebrating Ashnard’s demise.

Rather than scold them, Soren left them to their work and returned to his room where he donned clothes more suitable for travel and retrieved his wind tome. An expert in the city had resewn the binding and restored many of the damaged pages. Pages with no usable spells had been removed, and fresh pages had replaced them. With his pay from Elincia, Soren had bought additional spells, but they were mostly the simples ones: Wind, Fire, and Thunder _._ He wondered if it would be a long time until he had reason to use advanced spells again.

With nothing else to do, Soren returned to the stables to await the others. Ike was the first to arrive, and they sat together in silence. The tipsy stable boys and girls pretended to leave, but Soren knew they were hiding and watching.

“I’m glad to be going home,” Ike sighed after a while. “But without Father, I don’t know if it will feel like home anymore.”

Soren tried to feel what his friend felt, but he could not. He understood on the surface: obviously, Ike missed Greil even after all this time. But Soren couldn’t feel that same pain, so he replied honestly: “I am not one to know such things. ‘Home’ holds little meaning for me. It always seems to move, and I feel no anxiety about returning or having you as our commander instead of Greil.”

Ike smiled at the ground. “Thanks.”

Not quite sure why Ike was thanking him, Soren decided to change the subject. “However, I am curious why we are returning to the old fort at all.”

“What are you talking about? Of course we’re going back.”

Soren’s words caught in his throat for a moment, but he pushed through. “You could have had a bright future here in Melior. Elincia already made you a lord. In return for winning the war, she could have bestowed even more lands and titles upon you. You could have become the Commander of the Royal Knights. With future victories, you could have moved up in the court. You could have been rich beyond your wildest dreams. One day…you could even have married the queen.”

“What?” Ike spluttered and finally looked at him. His eyes were wide and his jaw loose as he stared at Soren, evidently flabbergasted. “What brought that on?”

Soren refused to fall for his performance. He cocked his head. “I am asking an honest question. One I am sure many people are wondering.”

“What people?” Ike returned defensively.

“Most people would not reject a lordship, Ike…” Soren considered adding the equally ridiculous scenario of refusing the opportunity to court a royal (especially one he was clearly devoted to) and become a royal himself. But Soren bit off these words, not able to acknowledge them to his face.

Ike crossed his arms. “Well, I’m not most people then. Owning land and titles—that doesn’t mean anything to me. I have the Greil Mercenaries. That’s all I need.”

Soren shook his head. “A mercenary fights for money, Ike.”

“Well, I have other reasons.” Ike smiled to the side, refusing to be swayed by his lecture.

“The only reason the Greil Mercenaries are still following you is because Elincia didn’t pay well enough for the war contract. They can’t retire yet, but someday they will. Retire or die on a mission—those are the only options available to your supposed ‘family’.” Soren didn’t know why he was saying these things. He didn’t actually want to alienate Ike, and he wasn’t trying to make him regret his decision to leave Elincia.

Ike didn’t seem particularly troubled, but he did peer deeply into Soren’s eyes as if trying to understand something. His eyebrows furrowed a tick. He seemed about to say something, but just then, he caught sight of Titania and closed his mouth.

The Greil Mercenaries’ deputy was walking into the stable yard with pink cheeks and a happy smile. She was also dragging Gatrie behind her, who appeared dead on his feet. He must have drunk too much again.

Ike waved cheerily in greeting, and Soren knew the discussion was over. Ike hadn’t really answered any of Soren’s lingering questions, but his conviction had been oddly comforting. Ike truly didn’t want to stay in Melior with Elincia. He was determined to leave. Soren told himself he ought to be grateful for that and move on.

Oscar and Boyd appeared not long later, carrying Shinon between them. The archer was already snoring loudly, unaware of all around him. Boyd had clearly been drinking too, but he wasn’t nearly as far gone. Once they’d loaded Gatrie and Shinon into the cart, Oscar tousled Boyd’s hair and asked if he was well enough to ride. “Uv’course I’yam,” he moaned, pushing his brother’s hand away.

Mia arrived next, escorted by Mist and Rolf. The pair walked on either side of her like railings, redirecting her whenever she got distracted or tried to wander off. Watching them make their way slowly down the road was rather amusing. Mia’s hair and dress were disheveled and she’d somehow lost the ornate hairpiece she’d been wearing earlier in the evening.

Rhys, to everyone’s surprise, was the last to arrive. When he finally ran up to them, he was out of breath. “I’m sorry I am late!” he gasped. “Titania convinced me to have bit of wine and I fell asleep on a bench!” He was obviously horrified by his own actions, but everyone else just laughed.

“Alright, that’s everyone!” Ike clapped his hands together. “We ride through the night. I hope you’re all up for it.”

Boyd groaned, and Titania looked suddenly less certain. Mist and Rolf yawned in unison, and Gatrie added his snores to Shinon’s inside the cart. But no one protested.

Gatrie and Shinon’s horses were tied to Oscar’s and Titania’s, and Rhys and Mia drove the cart. Rolf rode with Boyd, and Soren, Ike, and Mist each had their own horses. Once everyone was mounted, they set off at a leisurely pace. Soren wasn’t usually one for riding, but he’d practiced recently in preparation for this departure. When purchasing the horses, Titania had taken into account the inexperience of her comrades. Soren, Ike, and Boyd each rode docile old mares, not warhorses. After all, there was no rush. They only wished to be far away before Elincia or anyone else could track them down and guilt them into returning. 


	20. CHAPTER 51: PEACE

They arrived at the old fort a few days later and walked in to find a group of fifteen or so men and women had taken up residence inside (along with a family of rats and a brood of pigeons). Apparently, the bandits had been using the fort as their base while raiding the surrounding villages and farmland. The mercenaries made short work of scaring them off. The rats, on the other hand, would take longer. They set traps but didn’t bother buying poison; the pests would just return when they left again.

Everyone was glad to be back, even if things had changed. The fort was even more of a ruin than before, thanks to the damage from the battle, refuse from the bandits’ stay, and three years’ general neglect. The mattresses had deteriorated to almost nothing, and the extra furs and blankets had either been stolen or eaten by moths. The library where Greil had kept all the company’s records still contained ash from when he and Rhys had burned their old documents, but Greil’s books were still on the shelves. Evidently the bandits had had no interest in them.

Mist rolled up her sleeves and got to work cleaning, and Titania gave out orders left and right. Soon the fort was abuzz, and their activity felt like a reclamation of sorts. Gatrie and Oscar ventured into Arbor for news, as well as hay to feed the horses and stuff the mattresses. Shinon and Rolf entered the forest to hunt. Boyd set about fixing the handle on the well, and Rhys perused the books surviving in the library. Mia settled into Ike’s old room, and Ike settled into his father’s quarters. 

Soren wandered into the room that had once been his. His fingers found the scratches on the wall, and looking at them was like peering back in time. Closing the door, he took off his shoes, pressed his back against the wall, and met the rough stone with his fingertips. Turning carefully, he checked his height. In almost three years, he’d grown no more than a quarter inch, whereas Ike and Boyd had grown nearly a head taller each.

Soren wasn’t as dismayed as he once would have been. After talking to Stefan, he’d grown used to the expectation that he would lag far behind his comrades. How far behind was the real mystery. _Maybe when we’re both thirty, Ike can teach me to shave,_ Soren mused. _Or when we’re both fifty..._ This thought became less humorous as the seconds ticked by. _How could he want me around then?_ Ike may have known the truth about his being a Branded, but that didn’t mean he understood what that meant.

With a shake of his head, he retied his sandals. There was no use worrying about the future now. Whatever happened, he would be prepared. He’d turned the majority of his pay from the Crimea job into credit by depositing it into a private account with the Imperial Bank of Begnion. It would sit accruing interest until he had need of it. As of now, however, he couldn’t imagine what he would need it for. 

After a week back at the fort, they received a visitor. Soren had never met this man, who introduced himself as, “Sir Craig of Persis, vassal of Duke Sephiran, Prime Minister of Begnion,” and it seemed no one else recognized him either. Unlike his pale-skinned, black-haired lord, he had dark skin and honey hair and seemed to actually hail from Persis. (Rather than Sephiran, an outsider who’d been gifted the prosperous duchy by Apostle Misaha).

“Persis is a long way from here. What brings you to Crimea?” Titania asked curiously.

“Indeed, it is difficult to be so far from home. I was traveling in service to Lord Sephiran while he first visited New Daein and then attended the coronation of Queen Elincia. I was to return home with my lord after the festivities, but a missive came from the capital that I should travel here instead. I am embarrassed to say I became quite lost.”

By now all the mercenaries had heard of the visitor and crowded into the briefing room to hear what he had to say. Judging by their faces, they wanted him to get on with it.

“Hey, Craig,” Ike prompted him. “So why _were_ you ordered to come to us?”

“To offer you work of course!” he explained eagerly. “There is a pass to the south and east, through the mountains that divide Gallia and Begnion. Surely you know if it?”

Ike was clearly flabbergasted, and twisting to look at Soren and Titania, he practically glared at them. “If there’s a pass to Begnion, what did we sail all the bleeding way around Tellius for?” he demanded.

Titania raised her palms in appeasement. “King Caineghis advised against it,” she explained. “Ashnard had already seized Mugill—the fortress city which guards the pass—months before the war broke out.”

Now Ike glared at Craig. “Ashnard seized Begnion lands before the war, and no one ever thought to mention it?”

Craig looked embarrassed. “The way I understand it, there is a long tradition of banditry in those parts...”

“Banditry?” Soren repeated curiously.

“The capital cannot send a full army into that region for fear of accidentally inciting violence with the subhumans,” he explained, “so thieves, rapists, and murderers flock there. It is not something we wish the general citizenry to be aware of…”

“Sounds like quite the image problem.” Titania frowned unsympathetically. 

“And Daein?” Ike prompted him with an edge in his voice.

“Er, well, Daein’s men seized the forts without distinguishing banners nor armor. How were we to know?”

“Just like when they posed as pirates to attack the apostle’s ship,” Soren noted. “Ashnard was working to involve Begnion from the beginning.”

Ike sighed and rolled out the tension from his shoulders, which had spiked at the word ‘subhuman.’ “Alright then. What about this pass?”

“Well, actually there are two passes,” Craig corrected him. “Mugill stands between Begnion and Gallia, and a little to the north, Flaguerre stands between Begnion and Crimea. The contract is for-”

“Wait!” Now Ike was even more incensed. “If there’s a pass between Begnion and Crimea, why the hell did we invade Daein?”

Soren leapt to answer this one. “The pass doesn’t exist anymore. Due to landslides, it has been largely inaccessible for decades.” He turned to Craig. “Correct?”

Craig nodded. “Yes, I thought it was common knowledge…”

Soren didn’t appreciate the insinuation that Ike was uneducated (even if he was), so he pushed forward with his analysis of the situation: “Daein took Flaguerre as well, in order to maintain control of Mugill and keep Gallia cut off. It was a good strategy, but Ashnard’s ambitions for the beast nation died with him. What do you want us to do about it?”

Craig smoothed down his lavender tunic. “The way I understand it, the Daein soldiers do not wish to return to their homeland now that they have lost the war. And many of the local bandit tribes have their eyes on the fortress cities now that there is no threat of reinforcements. Meanwhile, of course, the Imperial Army would like to cleanse the region and retake the fortresses as soon as possible. But with the majority of the army currently enforcing peace in New Daein, there are few troops to be spared… Then there is the subhuman problem of course: no one wants to risk conflict with them.”

“More like ‘risk contact with them’,” Titania snorted angrily.

“Say ‘subhuman’ again and you’re out of here,” Ike added in a lowered voice. “They’re called laguz.”

Craig swallowed visibly and seemed to forget what he had been saying.

“So you want us to help you retake the cities.” Soren got the conversation back on track. “And you want _us_ because we are on favorable terms with Gallia?”

“That is what the missive said, yes,” Craig agreed, elbows locked and hands in his lap like a scolded child.

Soren turned to Ike and Titania. “What do you think?”

Ike managed to force his frown into a small smile. “We said we’d like to visit Gallia again, right?”

“I think it would be a wonderful way to restart our business,” Titania offered.

“What about you, Soren?” Ike asked.

He turned back to Craig. “What’s the pay?”

“The missive offered two thousand gold pieces,” he answered promptly.

“Five thousand, and you pay us up front.”

Craig looked surprised. He glanced at Ike and Titania, obviously expecting them to take charge, but they said nothing.

“I have been authorized to raise the price to four thousand but no further,” Craig said uncomfortably, glancing from Soren to Ike to Titania.

“That will do,” Ike agreed.

Soren smiled inwardly. This man was certainly no negotiator. Begnion had only sent him because he was nearby, which meant they must really want those forts as soon as possible.

“Up front?” Soren prompted.

“Well, I don’t have the money with me…” the man explained, clearly uncertain what to do.

Soren sighed. “Send word ahead and have the gold ready at the border. We’ll collect when we get there.”

Craig seemed relieved. He pulled a contract from his satchel. Soren read it and filled in the necessary information. Then Ike signed it and shook Craig’s hand. The deal was done. Craig wasted no time returning to his servants and his carriage and continuing his journey home.

“Send word to Ranulf,” Ike told Soren as they watched the man trundle away. “See if he can spare a guide and safe passage.”

Soren composed the letter that evening. He also drafted one for Bastian, letting him know where they were headed. But he didn’t tell Ike about this, for fear of stoking his twisted feelings toward anything related to Queen Elincia.

The next morning, Titania rode out for Arbor, where the office for the Crimean Royal Post would hopefully be functional. Soren later saw a dot on the horizon and imagined it was a pegasus off to deliver their message to Gallia.

Titania returned some hours later with Rhys, whom she’d picked up on the way. He had spent the past few days with his sickly parents, both of whom had survived the war and were glad to have their son back. But Rhys was needed by the mercenaries again, and he was as loyal as any of them.

Everyone finished preparations and were ready to set out by mid-afternoon. As excited as they’d been to return to the base, no one seemed distressed about leaving again. There was an air of steadfastness around them. They were mercenaries, and this was their livelihood.

Three blue cats from the same clan as Ranulf met them at the border with a letter apologizing that he couldn’t escort them personally. The laguz seemed torn between loyalty to their captain and their clear dislike and distrust of beorc, but they did their duty.

They must have recognized Soren as a Branded, however, because they ignored him the entire trip. Soren was frustrated and ignore them equally. The cats spoke little with any of the mercenaries and slept apart from them, so their treatment of him in particular wasn’t suspicious.

The cats bid them a cold farewell at the foot of Mugill Pass. The mercenaries then climbed through some densely forested hills until they could see the fortress city presiding over the highest point of the pass. They skirted it in the night and met up with a Begnion strike force of about fifty men in an encampment on the other side. After introducing themselves to the commander and receiving their pay, the mercenaries set up their own camp nearby, but Soren remained with the commander to analyze the situation more closely. His work began now.

Weeks of fighting between the ex-Daeins and the bandit tribesmen had turned the region into a bloodbath, and the stretch of land between the two fortresses had been trampled into well-worn battlefields. When Soren and the rest of the mercenaries toured the area, he saw hurriedly built (and apparently ineffective) catapults and battering rams lying in splinters: testaments to Begnion’s failure. The land around Mugill had been churned with trenches and earthen barricades, and much of the forest around Flaguerre had been burned. The mountain villages between them stood in charred shambles visible from the road. Some buildings were still smoking, and the people who’d lived there were nowhere to be seen. The Begnion commander explained that the locals had suffered serious casualties from being caught in the crossfire or coerced into serving one side or the other.

He also claimed the Greil Mercenaries had arrived at a relatively good time. The surviving Daeins mostly stayed in the cities these days, and the fighting between the bandits had mellowed. But the Begnion forces in the region had been depleted to just two groups of less than a hundred each, which wasn’t nearly enough to take a single fortress, let alone both. This was all Soren had to work with, but since they’d already been paid, he did his best to find a solution.

He knew there was one; it would just take time.

In fact, the campaign took just over two months. That being said, they were not terribly arduous months. Despite the impatience of the Begnion commander, Soren made certain careful reconnaissance and planning was employed to infiltrate the bandit clans and understand who was who and what was what. Before any major offensives, the villages (and even more important, their precious metal mines) were reclaimed and safeguarded from attack. Once the flow of ore was repaired from these outskirts to the mainland, more troops could suddenly be spared to aid them.

Untangling the bandit tribes from the innocent local tribes was another difficult task that couldn’t be rushed. After the first month had passed, Soren renegotiated the mercenaries’ pay.

In the meantime, the ex-Daeins within the fortresses were slowly being starved (along with the Begnion citizens still living inside—but Soren didn’t particularly care about them and apparently neither did the Begnion commander). This had been orchestrated by a covert team of soldiers who’d snuck inside and burned all of the food stores they could find before they’d been discovered and eliminated.

Once the regions around the fortresses had been fully secured, the ex-Daeins could no longer leave to appropriate food from the surrounding lands. As an added measure, Soren took care to eliminate messengers (human or pigeon) that tried to get from one city to the other. In the case of the messenger birds, Soren put Rolf on the task, and the young boy developed bloodshot eyes and a serious nervous blinking problem from staring at the sky for hours at a time, day and night. Until of course, Oscar cornered Soren and put a stop to it. He gave in only because he judged the prolonged lack of communication had already isolated and distressed the ex-Daeins.

As the weeks ticked by, Soren considered how this mission was unlike any during the war. Their numbers were more limited, obviously. Soren could only advise Ike how to deploy their eleven members and recommend how he might advise the Begnion commander in turn. But he didn’t have free reign, and he couldn’t rely on specialized units. His mind would sometimes turn to Tanith’s pegasus contingent, Largo’s cohort of berserkers, or the mages who’d flocked to Bastian like disciplines, but these were foolish thoughts. He didn’t have access to these people anymore. Speculating how they might fit into his plans, even for a second, was a waste of mental energy.

But there was one holdover from the war that did come in handy: Soren’s enhanced senses. He always had a good conceptualization of the battlefield, and this allowed him to make nuanced and timely adjustments to his strategy as long as he had Ike’s ear. And he almost always did. Thanks to his Branded sense, Soren could always tell where Ike was with acute accuracy. This allowed him to report to his side in an instant, send another mercenary to his defense, or shelter him from a salvo of arrows with wind magic. Ike was like a beacon, and Soren would do anything to keep it shining brightly.

When the time was ripe, the Begnion soldiers staged a diversion outside Mugill, and the mercenaries used a pully system to lift first Shinon, then Mia, and then Soren over a stretch of wall where the malnourished and depressed ex-Daeins had failed to maintain a watch. Everything was quickly handled from there. The trio snuck to the nearest gatehouse where they let Ike, the rest of the mercenaries, and the Begnion soldiers inside. The great cleanse Begnion had desired was soon achieved.

The next day, the head of Mugill’s commander was displayed to Flaguerre’s commander, who promptly surrendered. The Greil Mercenaries were paid, and they moved on.

For a few weeks, the mercenaries recovered in Gallia, travelling to and staying in the palace, where even Soren received tolerable treatment. While they were here, they were updated on the goings-on of Tellius, especially Crimea. The gist of it was that Elincia was preforming reasonably well as queen, and Gallia was aiding Crimea’s reconstruction as promised.

As for the east, Begnion had replaced Daein copper pieces with Begnion paper credits as the standard currency. The exchange rate had previously been a hundred copper or ten credits to one gold piece. But now a thousand copper pieces were equivalent to one only Begnion credit, while the value of the credit remained the same in relation to gold and silver. As a result, almost all native Daeins were now living in poverty. Even nobles were sent reeling from the changes, especially since they were being heavily taxed. The excuse was to aid the repair of their nation’s infrastructure after the war, but Soren expected the real reason was to eliminate the concept of Daein nobility at all. They would be forced to sell their lands and their assets, making room for entrepreneurial Begnion men and women to sweep in and seize everything.

That being said, Daein infrastructure was being improved. Apparently a wide road was being built all the way from Tor Garen to Nevassa so Begnion would have unprecedented access to the heart of Daein. The road would cut through mountains, wastes, swamps, and farmlands. The nobles heading the project spread propaganda calling the road ‘a symbol of the Crimean-Begnion conquest of Daein, and the long year our armies marched across its inhospitable land.’

Hearing this clearly soured Ike’s mood. Soren wasn’t happy either. Ike’s name and his role as the heroic young general of those armies was nowhere in the narrative. (Then again, Soren suspected that may not have been why Ike was upset.)

While at Castle Gallia, notices came for the Beast King and heron siblings from Tibarn. To Ike’s surprise, a letter came for him as well.

“King Phoenicis and King Kilvas have agreed to a truce between the hawk and raven tribes,” Ike translated from the note while sitting in one of the castle’s plush sitting rooms, lit by the glow of the hearth fire, “to ‘heal the rift between them’. And they’re proposing that the beast, heron, and dragon laguz enter this pact too. This ‘Laguz Alliance’, they call it, will represent a new era when all laguz are united… Tibarn says that if the war has shown anything, it’s that this is possible.” Apparently finished, Ike ran his eyes over the letter again before handing it to Titania. “Do you think the other laguz will join?” He seemed to be addressing her and Soren.

“I have no doubt the heron tribe will agree,” Titania answered while skimming the text, “Prince Reyson and King Lorazieh have enjoyed the hawk’s hospitality for years, and their surviving people live on the southern side of the island. As for the Beast King, he is less predictable, but I have a feeling he will join.”

“I agree,” Soren said. Twisting Tibarn’s words, he continued: “The war taught the laguz tribes lessons about fear and strength they’ve not learned in generations.” Pausing a moment, he added, “Though, I doubt the dragon tribe will join the alliance. I am sure Tibarn knows this as well and the invitation was merely a formality.”

Ike nodded. “The Greil Mercenaries have been invited to attend the party in Phoenicis.”

“A party!” Mia, Mist, and Gatrie exclaimed happily.

“What?” Shinon snapped in surprise.

Soren frowned pointedly.

“Tibarn said it wouldn’t be a formal invite. Apparently not all the hawks like the idea of a bunch of beorc sailing to their island for nothing but a good time.” Ike shrugged. “He said it would be disguised as a job—we’d be hired to escort the Gallian representatives.”

“No way am I getting myself trapped on bleeding bird island!” Shinon spat.

“Sailing? Again?” Mia pouted.

“Disguised as a job,” Soren repeated, just as Titania finally handed him the letter. “Will it pay?”

Ike grinned. “Fifteen-hundred gold for the trip there, another fifteen-hundred for the trip back. Plus all provisions and lodgings for the duration of the stay will be covered by the Phoenician crown.”

“Hmph.” Shinon’s expression softened. “Doesn’t sound too bad, with those numbers attached.”

“And if Gallia doesn’t agree to the truce?” Titania asked.

Ike shrugged. “Then there’s no job. But for now, let’s assume there is. Who’s in?”

Everyone raised their hands (Shinon reluctantly).

Ike smiled. “Looks like we might be going to Phoenicis.”

“We must be the first beorc to visit in well over a century,” Titania added. “This is a high honor!”

“We’re hired muscle,” Shinon corrected her. “Honor’s got nothing to do with it.”

Caineghis accepted the invitation and sent three high-ranking members of his court—a lion, a tiger, and a cat—to attend the ceremony. Each had fifteen or so guards, family members, and attendants coming with them. The beasts traveled light, carrying only the few items they needed and hunting at their leisure. Sometimes they walked in human form, other times they trotted along in their animal forms.

After a few days, five extracted themselves from the company and approached Ike, telling him they’d fought under his command during the war. They bowed low in respect, and Ike accepted their genuflecting with more awkwardness than poise. But other than these few, most of the laguz ignored their beorc escort, especially the three beast lords. After several weeks in Gallia, the Greil Mercenaries were used to being ignored and stared at in equal measure—Soren especially. He would be glad when this mission was over, but that was still months away.

They were heading back to Crimea: the only place the Gallians could board a ship. Oscar and Titania left the group to run ahead and arrange transport in Toha. They would need two speedy ships to carry the forty-five laguz and eleven mercenaries, plus two crews and two captains willing to sail to Phoenicis.

Ike refused to ask Elincia for any aid, and Soren considered writing to Bastian and asking him to pull some strings. But as they neared the Crimean border, Oscar returned saying everything had been arranged. Apparently Titania had found one captain who’d been a volunteer soldier in the rebellion and another whose friends had returned from the war with stories of training and fighting beside laguz. The pair was unafraid (and perhaps even eager) to embark on this unprecedented journey, and many of their crew members felt the same.

This surprised and irritated Soren, to whom it seemed unreasonable that attitudes would change so quickly. Millenia of fear and prejudice didn’t just evaporate. _It isn’t fair,_ Soren found himself thinking, although he couldn’t say what exactly was unfair about it.

Two beast lords and half of the Gallian attendants took one ship, and the third lord and the other half of the attendants took the other. The mercenaries divided themselves between the two in order to maintain an equal guard (however thin) over each vessel. Ike led one garrison, with Soren as his deputy, and Titania led the other with Mist at her side. Ike was reluctant to let Mist out of his sight for weeks at a time, but the young woman asserted that she could best serve him as an extension of his authority on the other ship. 

Every ten days, they laid anchor and placed planks between the vessels so the guard could be changed. Sometimes Soren changed places with Mist, supporting Titania instead, and at these times he felt oddly relieved. When the ships sailed far from one another, Soren had no sense of Ike, and this void—in constrast with his otherwise constant awareness of the man—was unexpectedly comforting. After all, they weren’t fighting anyone right now, and Soren’s inability to suppress his Branded sense was starting to become annoying.

They sailed for almost two months before the peaks of Phoenicis appeared on the horizon. By this time, everyone was restless and eager to disembark, and the beast-men were especially antsy.

There were no known safe harbors and certainly no docks on Phoenicis, so the beorc captains anchored offshore and the crew rowed the laguz and mercenaries to a pristine beach. Soren and Ike were in the first group, and as they were ferried over the water, they each gazed up at the sky, watching hawks gliding in the distance. “They must know we’ve arrived,” Ike noted.

The rowboat collided with the sand, and the beast laguz immediately hopped over the side. Soren and Ike stretched their legs with a walk along the beach while the Gallians transformed and began romping in the soft sand and gentle waves like kittens. Only the cat lord who’d ridden in the second rowboat and two of his guards refused to partake in the play. They stood stoically, even while their tails flicked wistfully and their feet flexed into the sand.

The rowboats returned to the ships for another load, and several dark shapes and one white one appeared over the trees. A moment later, Tibarn, Reyson, and a few hawk laguz Soren didn’t recognize landed on the beach.

“Welcome, Ike.” Tibarn grasped forearms with the young commander. “Welcome Lord Vereghis.” He inclined his head politely to the cat lord, who bowed more deeply in return.

Reyson repeated these welcomes. Of course, he, his sister, and his father had flown to Phoenicis and arrived long ahead of the mercenaries and beast laguz.

“You’ve made good time,” Tibarn said. “The festivities begin in five days.”

“The weather was fair,” Ike offered with a smile.

“How did you like sailing, Lord Vereghis?” Tibarn turned to the proud cat.

“It disagrees with my men,” the lord replied, then adding politely. “But to ensure a strong alliance among laguz, it shall be endured.”

“We’ll have to meet in Gallia next time,” Tibarn laughed. 

The cat lord gave a relieved nod.

“And the mercenaries,” Tibarn turned to Ike and Soren. “Glad you could come. How’s everyone?”

“Glad to have work,” Ike answered, “And glad to see old friends.”

“Well met.” Tibarn chuckled. “Janaff, Ulki, and Leanne are anxious to see the Greil Mercenaries again. They’re waiting back at Phoenicis Castle now.” Tibarn then addressed the assembled laguz, Ike, and Soren together: “We of the bird tribes make our homes high in the mountains. We don’t walk the forests between here and there, so there are no roads nor paths. I hope you’re ready for some bush-whacking.”

 _And one hell of a hike,_ Soren added mentally, sizing up the mountains in the distance. He had anticipated this problem, and he wasn’t fond of the prospect of two days’ arduous travel. Untamed wilderness was no stranger to the Gallians, who merely shrugged at Tibarn’s words. Ike, on the other hand, looked as uncertain as Soren felt.

Reyson gestured for Tibarn’s attention and whispered something into his ear.

Raising an intrigued eyebrow, Tibarn addressed Ike and Soren: “If the beorc don’t mind being carried, we could speed things up considerably.”

“Carried?” Ike repeated in surprise. He glanced at the high mountains and seemed to pale.

“We accept,” Soren said, before he could refuse, and Ike looked even more surprised that Soren had spoken for him.

Tibarn was clearly excited by this new plan, smiling like an overgrown child. He signaled for his attendants to take to the skies. “We will return with more men,” he said, before beating his wings and taking off.

“Why did you agree?” Ike asked, looking a bit frazzled.

“It was the obvious decision,” Soren replied. “It could take days to reach the castle by foot. And at night we would risk serious injury on the treacherous terrain.”

Ike immediately deflated, apparently resigned to accept this truth.

“Besides, don’t all beorc wish to know what it’s like to fly?” Soren mused.

“Not me!” He shook his head. “Wait, do you?”

Soren’s first thought was that he wasn’t beorc, but of course this wasn’t the time nor place to remind Ike of that. “It may pose an interesting tactical maneuver. I believe the potential of flight ought to be explored.”

Ike laughed nervously. “Of course, you’d say that.”

The mercenaries were flown to castle Phoenicis while the ships’ crews stayed in temporary shelters on the beach. Titania and Oscar left their horses with the sailors as well.

With no time to put together harnesses, the mercenaries were carried by their shoulders with nothing put a bit of makeshift padding to blunt the hawks’ claws. Their supplies were carried separately. With his legs dangling far above the treetops and wind whipping his hair and robes, Soren found the experience both exhilarating and terrifying. The hawk’s talons were uncomfortably tight on his shoulders, but the pain made him feel more secure. Soren forced his body to go limp, imagining he were some dead mouse or fish picked up by a bird of prey. He watched the island unfold below him. His ears popped when the hawks reached the mountains and ascended even higher.

A city appeared before him—a city of strange buildings etched into the sides of cliffs with rarely a trail between them. The sky grew crowded with hawks and ravens. Old men and women glided slowly while young children attempted tricks at great speed. The mercenaries’ hawks gently lowered them into a courtyard at the center of Phoenicis Castle, where Leanne clapped at their arrival.

Mia and Rolf each bowed theatrically, but Ike and Rhys seemed about to faint. Shinon was obviously uncomfortable, crossing his arms and sulking. Gatrie, Boyd, and Oscar all seemed a bit dazed. Mist was elated, bouncing on her heels and profusely thanking the hawk who’d carried her, while Titania thanked hers as well, albeit in a more reserved fashion.

Tibarn and Reyson soon landed beside them. “I suppose that takes care of the tour of the island!” the Hawk King laughed.

The celebration of the Laguz Alliance was designed to fall on an auspicious week: that of the bird tribes’ autumn festival. Countless flying competitions and performances were held, and a ceaseless feast of food and drink was served. Several of the traditional activities were adapted for the beorc and beast guests, and additional events were added such as footraces and wrestling matches. There was music too, sometimes played by full orchestras and other times drifting down from a solitary lute-player on a perch. In the evenings, ancient hawks and ravens came together to sing the histories of their tribes, and for the first time, Soren heard stories of lands and people outside Tellius. A few of the heron refugees—fair people with silver hair and gray wings—also participated in the festivities by performing a dance that involved swiftly changed from their animal to human forms in the air and on the ground. Leanne and Reyson also sang galdr, enchanting an entire garden into bloom, but their father was apparently too sick to show himself.

Of the elderly laguz who did come spectate, the vast majority ignored Soren. But the younger ones didn’t seem to mind him. As the mercenaries were special guests of the king, they had to be polite. Soren was grateful for this. He’d spent weeks at sea imagining all manner of excuses he would have to use if the hawks treated him differently than the rest.

When the celebrations were finally over, one ship returned to Crimea laden with most of the beast laguz (including two of the three beast lords). The other, laden with the mercenaries and a small envoy of laguz, embarked for Begnion. A group of three hawks and two ravens flew ahead, and together these laguz comprised the envoy that would notify the empire of the Laguz Alliance’s ratification. If Sanaki and the senate agreed to acknowledge the alliance, they would also serve as ambassadors to the court. Once again, the mercenaries were serving as an escort, and they were being paid a pretty penny for their services.

“We’ve spent a lot of time among laguz the past few months,” Ike said one day on deck. “And you’ve been quiet. That’s a long time be quiet.”

“There is no privacy on this ship. Not among laguz,” Soren replied brusquely, “Please do speak of such things to me here.” He quickly left Ike’s side and hoped he understood his meaning. It wasn’t safe to mention his Branded nature in such cramped quarters. But even more than that, Soren had been caught off guard by Ike suddenly broaching the subject. They hadn’t spoken of his parentage since the war ended.

As Soren walked to the opposite end of the ship just to be as far from Ike as possible, he considered his words. After a moment’s thought, he had to admit Ike hadn’t actually alluded to Soren’s mixed blood. Perhaps all he’d intended to do was point out Soren’s increasingly antisocial behavior, or perhaps chastise him for what must seem like stubbornly-held prejudices. He realized he’d been wrong to assume and wrong to act rashly on that assumption.

He stopped when he came to the to the aft gunwale and placed his hands on the polished yet salt-splashed wood. Taking a deep breath, he tried to ignore Ike’s presence thirty yards behind him. The war had ended, but Soren’s laguz-like senses remained. His acute sense of Ike’s presence had been a great advantage on the battlefield, but now it felt like a curse. After so many weeks at sea, then on an island, now again at sea, there was no ignoring him—there was no getting away from him.

 _Why would I want to get away from him?_ Soren wondered, but he found no answer. Ike was his friend and commander, and to him, Soren held the utmost loyalty. But why, then, did he want to put as much distance between them as possible?

Eventually they arrived in a minor port on Begnion’s western coast. The laguz wore long cloaks with deep, heavy hoods to hide their ears and tails. Although Sanaki had cracked down on illegal slaveholding, that didn’t mean her people had suddenly developed respect or compassion for laguz-kind.

The beast laguz enjoyed the feeling of solid ground under their feet again, but they didn’t transform as they had on Phoenicis. They remained close to the Greil Mercenaries, impatient for their next move. The raven and hawk members of the envoy had flown straight to the capital to make introductions and arrange transport for their beast brethren. Once everyone was ashore, Ike first checked with the harbormaster and then with the nearest Imperial Army outpost. But neither knew of any carriage here to pick up foreign emissaries.

Ike dismissed the Crimean sea captain and his crew, who would putter around the coast for a few days to resupply and pick up any goods and passengers heading to Crimea. Titania checked the mercenaries and laguz into a local inn. Night fell, and everyone looked forward to sleeping in a real bed. Even the Gallians groaned happily at the thought, and Soren was no longer surprised at their predilection for what he’d long assumed were solely human luxuries. Obviously laguz enjoyed comfortable furniture as much as any beorc.

When quarters were being assigned, Soren wanted to take the room farthest from Ike, but he had no such luck. The three women were given one small room, the three brothers another, and the laguz (ten of whom had accompanied them to Begnion) filled a large suite. That left Soren, Ike, Gatrie, Shinon, and Rhys in the last room and his plan to distance himself from Ike summarily foiled.

Unable to bear it, he slipped away after everyone had fallen asleep and walked down to the harbor. Even at night, this place was awake and alive. The tide was high, and some ships were casting off into the moonlit sea. Others were just now returning, each laden with fish. It was mid-autumn, but this far south, the night air had only a small bite. Sailors and dockhands warmed themselves by braziers between tasks, but Soren didn’t mind the cold. Ike was out of his range, and he could finally breathe.

The next day, the carriages arrived to take the laguz to Sienne, and the Gallians and mercenaries parted ways. Ike shook the hand of the lion lord, and there seemed to be an air of mutual respect between them. Titania, Mia, Mist, and Rolf shared hugs with some of the other laguz—apparently having made friends these past months without Soren noticing. Shinon was nowhere to be seen of course, but Gatrie was here. He and Boyd were also shaking hands (or perhaps arm wrestling) with a pair of tigers they’d often sparred with on deck. Oscar was speaking in hurried, hushed tones with one of the lord’s servants. Soren eavesdropped for a moment and quickly ascertained that he was relaying the recipes for meals he’d prepared during the voyage.

Soren waited to the side and wished he’d remained at the inn with Shinon instead of attending this surprisingly emotional send-off.

The mercenaries stayed in the town for five days, gathering information about possible jobs, trying the local delicacies, and tending their weapons and armor, which hadn’t seen a proper blacksmith since Crimea.

They were free to wander, and Soren did so. He often napped during the day after exhausting himself at night, when he exploring the port town and villages just beyond its borders. It was a wonderful relief to be away from Ike—his resplendent young commander whom it was so hard to look at and yet who made it even harder to look at anything else.

Soren always turned around well before dawn, and his acute sense of direction would bring him the quickest way back to the inn. Shinon, Gatrie, or anyone whose bed had been empty before he departed would be breathing softly when he returned. They often stayed up late buying a woman’s time at a brothel, catching comedic sideshows in the plaza, or losing track of time at the local music hall or in any one of the town’s surprisingly numerous taverns. The others knew he didn’t waste his coin on such frivolities, and yet no one ever asked him where he disappeared to on his nightly ventures.

Eventually the days in this town reached their end; there was no work here. They would head south to larger ports where piracy was more common. Soren was glad to be moving on, but this also meant there would be little to no escape from Ike on the road.

The first day of travel was tolerable, but that night when the mercenaries slept together in just a couple tents, Soren couldn’t sleep at all. Ike was a barb in his mind, a beacon that shone through his closed eyelids. Even his scent was effusive. Their lives weren’t in danger anymore; he knew that. He also realized laguz must have methods of controlling their senses (and it wasn’t as if he wasn’t trying). But he still couldn’t smother the instinct he’d developed during the war. 

When dawn finally came, Soren asked Ike for a word outside, away from everyone else. He seemed confused but curious. He had sleep gunk in his eyes and an imprint on his cheek from sleeping on his arm. His face was frosted with uneven stubble, a darker blue than his hair, which flopped just above his eyes. Despite his morning grogginess, he looked good: solid, healthy, well-rested, well-fed, at peace. Soren was glad to see him this way, and it was a reminder that life was better now that the war was over. But this didn’t change what he was about to say.

“I would like to take a leave of absence from the company,” he announced, when they were far enough from the others. “Effective immediately.”


	21. CHAPTER 52: IMPRISONED

Ike refused Soren’s request. “Of course not. You’ve signed a contract with the Greil Mercenaries. A ten-year contract when you joined us. You had the chance to leave when I became commander, and you had the chance to leave when we won the war. But you chose to stay. So you stay.”

Soren was honestly bewildered by his response. He hadn’t asked why or for how long; he’d refused outright. And then Ike left, returning to where the rest of the mercenaries were packing up their nightly campsite.

Soren was stunned a few moments more. Then he grew annoyed—and then angry. He followed after Ike, but he vowed this wouldn’t be the end of the discussion.

The mercenaries spent three months fulfilling contracts with local mayors and harbormasters whose imports and exports were frequently targeted by pirates from the sea, gangs in the streets, and bandits on the roads leading out of town. They made their way along the coast, always moving on when their contract was up.

During this time, they encountered a ship’s captain who’d been the first mate of Nasir’s crew. Ike told him of the dragon’s demise, and the captain seemed to mourn the loss like an old friend. Ike also seemed to feel the loss anew, but Soren still hadn’t forgiven Nasir for his treachery and taunting. 

They also met Haar again during this time. It was Mist who spotted the black wyvern and its rider in the distance, descending lazily on a town. The former Daein dracoknight was unmistakable even at such a distance, and the mercenaries hurried to meet him. Asking around, they found him at the local office of the Imperial Post, where Haar was apparently making a delivery.

Glad to see familiar faces, Haar dined with them but left before nightfall, saying he had additional deliveries to make in the next town. Over the course of the meal, he explained that he and Jill hadn’t been able to return to their regular lives in Daein. Begnion had assigned its own steward to Talrega, stripping Jill of her inheritance.

But this seemed to weigh less on Haar’s mind than the fact that the tribe’s ancient wyvern-raising secrets were being appropriated for the empire’s own use. Daein nationals were forbidden to own wyverns as pets or tools of war, and Begnion scholars and soldiers had seized all their dragons as well as their eggs and nesting grounds. Haar, Jill, and a few of their peers had only managed to maintain possession of their steeds by classifying them as beasts of burden and starting a continent-wide mail and cargo service with the approval (and therefore protection) of the Crimean Royal Post and Begnion Imperial Post.

According to Haar, who retold these things with an air of defeat, Begnion was attempting to train enough elite riders to comprise a ‘holy’ dracoknight army, which would exclusively serve the heads of the senate, just as the Holy Guard served the apostle.

Soren listened carefully to every detail of Haar’s story. Even if they were currently beating up two-bit pirates in the middle of nowhere, he still wanted to know what was going on in the world—especially in the aftermath of the war. After all, handing Daein over to Begnion had been his idea. Although he felt no particular guilt or responsibility for Begnion’s actions, he did want to know the repercussions. For learning purposes.

To Soren’s surprise, Ike agreed to keep Haar informed about their whereabouts so he and his company could deliver to the mercenaries any letters from their friends and family. On the condition, of course, that he use discretion and not go telling everyone where the mercenaries could be found—especially Queen Crimea, whom it appeared Ike was still avoiding. Several of the mercenaries pulled coins from their pockets and scratched out quick letters to send with Haar when he departed. Soren decided to draft an update for Bastian, and for the first time, his correspondence with Elincia’s confidant felt like a strange victory over Ike.

That night, Soren caught his commander alone. “I would like to resubmit my furlough request,” he prompted, as he often did whenever he could effectively corner him.

As usual, Ike shook his head. “Are you going to tell me why yet?”

(Soren had apparently failed to provide good reasons previously.) At first, he’d claimed, “I just need some space.”

To which Ike had replied: “You surround yourself in space—you certainly don’t surround yourself with people. Come on, what’s really bothering you?”

Soren had tried again, pushing this excuse.

To which Ike had said: “Trust me. Whatever problem you’re having, it would be better to deal with it together than going off on your own. You’re better off here with us.”

Switching tactics, Soren had tried lying, saying, “I’m just tired of mercenary work.”

To which Ike had said: “No, you’re not. You’re good at this, so you enjoy it. It’s about one of the few things you do enjoy.”

Frustrated, Soren had even claimed to be too traumatized from the war to continue fighting.

To this Ike had barked a humorless laugh and replied: “Shinon slipped up yesterday and called those pirates ‘Daein dogs’, but we all do it—get transported out of battle, to a harder, harsher one. Sometimes we wake up with nightmares, because the people we’ve killed appear in our dreams and we have to make the decision to kill them again... Rolf woke up crying last week. Mia called out for her dead brother the other day. There are nights even Titania wakes up reaching for her knife. But not you Soren. You make the decision once, and then you’re done. When you sleep—rare though it may be—you sleep like a baby. We’ve all heard you leave at night, and I don’t doubt something’s keeping you awake, but it’s not the war… You can tell me what it really is. You don’t need to pretend it’s something else.”

His voice had been chastising yet earnest, and after this refusal, Soren hadn’t asked again for over a week. The problem was that his first excuse had been the closest to the truth. He truly needed space: space from Ike. But he hadn’t believed it was that simple, and perhaps he was right. But Soren couldn’t tell him the full truth, because he would never understand. 

That was why, tonight, Soren decided to ask his own question instead of offering an answer Ike would reject: “Why don’t you want me to go?”

This seemed to catch Ike off guard, but only for a moment. He shrugged both shoulders as if trying to wring out some tension. Then he sighed softly. “I can’t do this without you,” he said without looking at him.

“Do what?”

“Lead the Greil Mercenaries. It’s always been the three of us since Father died—you, me, and Titania. Father never taught me how to do this. But I knew I would replace him one day, so I watched him. And I knew from the beginning that I would never be like him. I can’t lead anyone on my own, alright? So…please stop trying to leave.”

Soren paused for a moment, replaying Ike’s words in his head. He didn’t seem self-pitying, resentful, or regretful. When Soren finally spoke, his voice came out so quietly he struggled to make it audible: “Very well, I will not ask again. But my request still stands.”

These past few months, Soren had badgered Ike to suspend his contract in secret. Meanwhile, they’d behaved normally during their daily routine of travel and battle. But this changed now. Of course, Soren still treated Ike with respect as his commander; he still took orders and offered advice, as was his job. But he didn’t speak with Ike as friends. He didn’t share meals or play games with him in their free time.

In short, Soren gave Ike the cold shoulder—and the others noticed. One day Ike came down to the dining hall of the inn where they were staying. He sat between Boyd and Soren, who, having finished his meal, abruptly stood and left. Once out of the room, he heard Boyd say to Ike behind him, “Wow, are you two really fighting?”

Soren kept walking as if he hadn’t heard. _Fighting?_ Soren thought. _Is that what this is? Friends fight, don’t they? Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf fight all the time. Shinon and Gatrie sometimes fight over attractive women. Mia picks fights with anyone who will duel her._ And yet none of these resembled the rift growing between him and Ike.

Another month passed, and the mercenaries grew quite busy. As Tellius rolled into spring, the southern sea grew gentler. This meant the number of merchant ships (and the amount of criminal activity) increased. Soren protected Ike in battle, and he found himself irritated that his Branded sense was coming in handy again, considering it was no less wearisome the rest of the time.

Although they were able to negotiate contracts wherever they went, the Greil Mercenaries did face some opposition. Apparently, certain Begnion civilians thought it the sole job of the Imperial Army to protect them from brigands, not some upstart, foreign mercenary crew who demanded payment for their services. These people paid their taxes, so they didn’t see why the army wouldn’t protect them. 

“The soldiers you’d have protect you are up north!” Titania spat back to one particularly verbally-abusive old woman, “They’re making themselves rich lording over the poor Daeins. They don’t care about you, and they’re worlds away even if they did. _We_ are here _now_.”

The woman clamped her mouth shut at that, but she didn’t look happy about it. Her eyes smoldered as Titania stalked away. Usually patient and regal, the paladin had snapped. Thinking this woman must have been piece of work, Soren felt compelled to approach her.

Her face was tanned, lined, and weathered by the sea, and she wore a sun-bleached dress, the fabric faded soft. But her arms and legs looked hard, albeit knobby. She walked with a cane, and for all the world she reminded Soren of Galina.

“What d’she know?” the woman was grumbling to herself. “And all three my boys in da army… Doing our nation an honor is what… Fool girl. Whoever saw such ri’culous hair?... Upstart ‘cenary scum… Pompous, greedy blighters… Probly not even certified… Rob us bleeding blind is what… No better than the pirates…”

Soren had been following her silently for several yards now, listening to her angry whispers. Finally he spoke up: “Not certified?” he asked, “What do you mean?”

The woman jumped and nearly dropped her cane. “Who’a you? What’dya want?”

“Nobody. Information,” Soren answered coolly.

The woman looked confused for a moment until she realized he’d answered her questions. “Oh… What inf’mation?” she asked in a guarded tone. Her eyes were fixed on Soren’s Brand, and he regretted not wearing a hood or hat.

“What do you mean, those mercenaries aren’t certified?” he asked again.

“Well they don seem resp’table to me. Probly never got their cert’fication with the Imperial Army, they haven’t. Probly doin’ their ‘cenary work illegally is what. Probly I should go to da outpost, report them. Bein’ locked up with those pirates they captured’d serve em right, I’d think.”

“Probably,” Soren agreed, mocking her.

The woman scowled. “Why’m I talkin’ a lita’ brat like you an’way.” She turned and shuffled on. Soren didn’t pester her further. He had what he needed—what he hadn’t known he needed.

Soren set out for the nearest army outpost as soon the sun had set. He slipped away from the inn, leaving the rest of the mercenaries relaxing in the lobby or in their rooms. He made certain he wasn’t followed.

The door was painted red and emblazoned with the Imperial Army’s coat of arms. Around the back of the building was a jail yard surrounded by tall stone walls and tiny barred windows. The windows peeked in on narrow cells built like horse stalls, which were arranged around the perimeter facing into the yard. Soren had seen them yesterday, when the mercenaries had delivered a couple pirates into the custody of the official guard.

The building itself had a front office into which Soren now strode, pushing the red door open. The rest of the building served as the barracks for the fifteen or so soldiers stationed here. One such soldier was resting with his head on his hand, sitting behind the desk where he was serving his shift.

Of course, the commander of this platoon had said nothing about certification when they’d met him yesterday. This was concerning, and Soren didn’t expect his plan to be easy.

“Excuse me,” he said, attempting to sound polite. This time he’d had the sense to cover his Brand and the top of his head with a bandana, as he’d seen other men, women, and children do around the docks. He didn’t want to be recognized or arouse undue suspicion.

“What is it, kid?” the man asked.

As usual, Soren bristled as being called a child, but he bit back a sharp retort. It benefitted him to seem innocent and unassuming now. “It has come to my attention that there is a roving mercenary band working illegally in this town,” he began. “I think they should be arrested immediately.”

The soldier was unimpressed. “Go home, kid,” he said.

“They are killing without authority,” Soren insisted. “That is surely against the laws of the empire.”

The soldier leaned back and dug his fingernails into his wiry beard. “They aren’t doing any harm. And if they want to put their necks on the line doing our job for us, more power to them.”

Soren wouldn’t give up that easily. “But they are abusing the townsfolk,” he lied, “demanding discounts on food and lodging. They are extorting the poor for everything they have, demanding it in return for saving them from pirates.”

The soldier just shrugged. “Not my problem.” 

Soren would have to increase his efforts. “I have heard they hold wealthy men at the point of a blade, pretending to be the pirates themselves. Then their comrades only order the other to stand down when the man has given over all the gold in his pockets.”

“Still not my problem.”

Soren was growing frustrated. “Do you not think it odd that there have been so many attacks this year?” he pointed out, knowing the increase was actually due to a correlating increase in commerce between Begnion and Crimea. More ships meant more thieves preying on them; it was simple, but hopefully this man did not have the wit to realize that. “Surely it is no coincidence. These are no mercenaries. They are conmen.”

If the soldier was bothered by how Soren’s complaints kept changing, or bothered by the possibility that these rumors might have some truth (which of course they did not), he didn’t show it.

Soren would have to use his last resort. “What about that man they killed? He was certainly no pirate.”

This piqued the soldier’s interest. “What man?”

Soren rushed on. “No pirate, that is for certain. He was my grandfather, a veteran. A hero. He did not deserve to go down like that.” Soren wasn’t much of an actor, and he had a hard time changing his body language and voice to match his words. But this oaf seemed to believe him.

“Your grandfather was a member of the Imperial Army, boy?” 

Soren nodded slowly. “He lost his arm decades ago, but that did not dissuade him from trying to stop those mercenaries from abusing his neighbors. He was a true soldier at heart. He stood up to them and was killed for it. Will you do nothing?”

The soldier seemed suddenly guilty. Soren’s plan was working. He didn’t seem concerned with the fact that his story kept changing, and Soren supposed he must have been tired and hungry after a long shift (or maybe he was just stupid).

“I’ll talk with my commander, see what I can do.”

“It isn’t right,” Soren insisted. “Soldiers like you—like my grandfather—are the law here. These villains calling themselves mercenaries should know better.”

The soldier smiled, his ego successfully stroked. “That they should.”

“Thank you, sir,” Soren forced himself to say, growing quite fed up with this charade. He turned to go, but then hesitated at the door.

“There are…young people, travelling with the mercenaries. You wouldn’t arrest them, would you?”

“Nah kid, not to worry.” The soldier winked. “I get your concern though. I hear there is a pretty young lady traveling with them. Too young for my taste, but I remember being your age. No harm will come to her. Hey, you never know, maybe she’ll stay in town once the others are taken care of.”

Soren realized he was talking about Mist and was more than a little disgusted on her behalf. With that, he left and hurried back to the inn.

The next morning, the mercenaries awoke and began packing their belongings. They were leaving town today, and Soren started to fear his plan had failed. But then ten members of the city guard appeared at the inn. Soren scanned their number from the window and saw the soldier he’d spoken to yesterday. With different clothes, his hair tied differently, and his Brand on display, he hoped he wouldn’t be recognized. If not that, he hoped he could count on the soldier being too embarrassed to speak out.

Soren moved to the top of the stairs, where he would have a better view of the unfolding scene. The commander pounded on the door, announcing loudly: “Imperial Army! We’re coming in!” Then he kicked open the door (not that it had been locked) and marched up to the front desk, where the innkeeper stood with mouth slightly agape. “You four, go block the other exits,” the commander ordered a handful of the soldiers at his back. Then he addressed the innkeeper: “We’re here for the so-called mercenaries. We mean your establishment no harm.”

“The Greil Mercenaries? Why? They’ve been exemplary guests!”

“They’re criminals, ma’am, plain and simple.”

By now Ike and Titania had joined Soren on the stairs, having heard the commotion. “Criminals?” Ike snorted. “What are they talking about?” 

“Criminals?” the innkeeper scoffed as well. “They wouldn’t hurt a fly.” She paused. “Unless that fly was a filthy, no-good pirate come to steal our goods, burn our houses, and terrorize our children,” she corrected. “They’ve done nothing but help us since they arrived!”

“We’ve heard otherwise,” the commander said flatly.

The innkeeper crossed her arms, unconvinced.

“Come on,” the commander insisted. “They’re _mercenaries_. They follow misfortune like dogs follow a scent. They profit from it. They’ve got no loyalty, no honor. They’re just in it for the gold.”

The innkeeper frowned more deeply, the truth of his words apparently not lost on her.

“Hey, wait just a minute,” Ike called, stepping down to the middle of the staircase. “That’s not very nice!”

The commander and the two men flanking him each raised a crossbow and knocked a bolt, aiming them straight at Ike, who had the good sense to stop moving and raise his hands. But he looked more angry than intimidated.

Titania, Boyd, Mia, and Gatrie pounded down the stairs to surround Ike. They clenched their fists, grabbing for weapons that weren’t there. Then they too raised their hands.

“So we’re mercenaries,” Ike said, “and you may not like us. But you can’t arrest us for that.”

The rest of the mercenaries were crowded at the top of the stairs. Rolf and Mist each tried to rush to their brothers, but Soren blocked them. “Careful,” he warned.

“Being a mercenary isn’t illegal, no,” the commander was saying. “But being an unregistered one is. You ‘Greil Mercenaries’ as you call yourselves aren’t certified with the army. We’ve checked.”

Ike said nothing, probably caught off guard.

Soren edged down the stairs as quietly as he could, squeezing behind Gatrie. He reached Ike’s shoulder and whispered. “There’s no good way out of this. You will have to turn us in. But insist that Mist, Rolf, and I not be arrested. I will go to Sienne, get the company certified and have the charges dropped.”

Ike gritted his teeth, clearly not happy with the plan.

“No whispering!” the commander ordered. “Come down the stairs, all of you! No funny business. Hands in the air. Slowly now.”

The mercenaries started down the stairs. Soren raised his hands too and tried to look meek. Of course, he was no better at acting than he’d been yesterday. Oscar and Shinon, who were in the back of the group, started retreating toward their rooms (no doubt wishing to retrieve their weapons), but Ike shot them a meaningful look and gave a slight shake of his head. Oscar looked chastised. Shinon look frustrated. But they both obeyed and followed the others downstairs. Rhys came last, looking sleepy and confused.

“That’s all eleven of them,” one of the soldiers reported.

“I know how to count!” the commander shot back.

“We’ll turn ourselves in,” Ike said. “What’s the sentence for saving people’s lives?”

The innkeeper smirked, and the commander’s eyes narrowed. “A year’s imprisonment. More if the other rumors about you lot are true.”

Ike sighed. “We have three children who travel with us. My sister Mist, our stable boy with the green hair Rolf, and my manservant with the dark hair Soren.”

Annoyance bubbled in him even as he clamped his mouth shut and tried to look like a timid servant. Ike’s lie didn’t have to be so insulting, and Soren wondered if he guessed this was all his doing.

“They’re not mercenaries. They are innocent. Please allow them their freedom.”

The commander surveyed the group, especially Mist. At sixteen, she was starting to look more like a woman, but her face was still round and her chest and hips relatively flat compared to Mia or Titania. Rolf was a year younger and puberty was still evading him, so he looked just as young as Ike claimed. As for Soren, the fact that he’d spent two decades on Tellius did little for the fact that he was still short, scrawny, and fresh-faced. He couldn’t place a number for how young he looked, but he knew it was young.

Finally the commander’s expression softened, and he gave a small nod. “Jail’s no place for kids. You three, stand over there.” He gestured to the wall next to the innkeeper’s desk, where she still stood, resigned to watch the drama playing out in her lobby.

Soren and Rolf extracted themselves from the group (Rolf with a slight shove from Boyd to get him going). Mist, however, turned to Ike and seized his arms in both hands. “No, Brother! I go where you go.” 

Ike pinned her with a serious look and whispered urgently: “You need to go with Soren. You’re more use to the Greil Mercenaries on the outside. You three go to Sienne and get us free, okay? You get Empress Sanaki to sign the order herself, you hear?”

Mist sniffed and wiped her eyes. “Alright.”

They hugged until the commander’s patience expired. “That’s enough, that’s enough! Move away girl, or you’ll be joining your brother in prison.”

Mist hurried over to Soren and Rolf, who offered his arm in comfort. While Soren watched his companions be led out of the inn in chains, he felt a sinking feeling in his gut. He hadn’t realized Ike would order the three of them to travel together. He’d hoped Rolf and Mist would stay here and he would be able to go on this mission alone. Mist was still tearing up, despite vigorously wiping her eyes. Rolf patted her shoulder, despite seeming equally distressed. _Did I just become a babysitter?_ Soren wondered.

It quickly became clear that he had not, actually, become a babysitter, because Mist and Rolf were no babies. They’d each seen more strife than most people their age. Mist may have been prone to bouts of childish emotion, but she was as responsible and level-headed as any of them when she needed to be. The same could be said for Rolf. He may have had an excess of childish excitement, but deep down, he was quite serious and rather bright.

Once their brothers were gone, the two teens recovered their senses and got to work. Together, they collected their companions’ belongings and paid to store them in one of the port’s warehouses. As for Titania’s and Oscar’s steeds and the company’s packhorse, they paid to house them at the inn’s stable. The innkeeper seemed sympathetic to the mercenaries, even after the commander’s tirade, and promised to take good care of them.

They departed for Sienne that very day, first stopping at the army outpost in hopes of saying goodbye. But the guards wouldn’t let them. “The prisoners are being processed,” said the soldier at the desk.

Mist and Rolf were disappointed, and Soren felt a pang as he sensed Ike’s presence in the jail yard beyond. He was torn. Part of him wondered if he’d made an unforgivable mistake, but another part of him relished his freedom and the feeling of having finally ended his and Ike’s silly fight.

The three mercenaries left town by hopping onto the back of a cart carrying fish on beds of ice. The ride was wet and smelled terrible, but Soren was far from Ike and had no sense of his presence. A weight had been lifted.

“We were operating for months with no trouble,” Mist said one day during their travels. “What changed?”

Soren took a few moments to respond. “The day before it happened, Titania got into an argument with a woman who thought it was no place of mercenaries to do the work of her beloved Imperial Army. Perhaps she reported us and hassled the soldiers into action.” _Am I really blaming Titania and that woman for what I did?_ he thought in self-disgust. He’d been feeling guiltier by the day.

“I miss my brother,” Mist sighed.

“Mine too,” said Rolf morosely. This was undoubtedly the longest time he’d been away from either Oscar or Boyd since Oscar had quit the Royal Knights and adopted them a decade ago. Soren wondered if Rolf even remembered a time before living with his brothers. It wasn’t something any of them ever talked about, and Soren found he felt even guiltier at the thought of having separated them. _Why do I care?_ came the familiar growl that echoed in his mind these days. _I don’t. I don’t care._

Arriving in Sienne, he was struck by how completely unchanged it was. The city rose into the sky in all its absurd, sparkling extravagance, and at its center the Tower of Guidance shot into the clouds, a golden pillar of stateliness. The trio made their way into the heart of the city with their weapons concealed: Mist’s sword and knife, Rolf’s bow, quiver, and dagger, and Soren’s unassuming tome. They avoided patrolling soldiers who’d surely want to know what three scruffy teens were doing wandering such polished streets.

Temple Mainal was under far too strict a guard for them to sneak in, so they walked up to the front gate. “We wish to speak with Empress Sanaki,” Mist announced, unintimidated by the armored guards.

One shot them an unamused glance. “Clear off, you kids. We’re not interested in your games.”

“This is no game,” she insisted, “I am Mist of the Greil Mercenaries, and this is Rolf and Soren.” Neither of the soldiers’ eyes showed any recognition. “You know, Queen Elincia’s mercenaries?” she pressed, “My brother Ike won the war. You know—the Mad King’s War? Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“Clear off,” the guard repeated, losing his patience. “Or we’ll make you.”

Mist sighed and gestured that Soren and Rolf should follow her down the steps. “Well that didn’t work.”

“I really never thought it would be as easy as walking through the front door and climbing the stairs to her bedchamber,” Soren replied.

“Then what is your plan, Mr. Tactician?” Mist asked, and it was hard to tell if she was being genuine. She wasn’t usually one for sarcasm, but being away from her brother seemed to be having a draining effect on her.

“Find someone who knows us; have them vouch for us,” Soren answered, although it should have been obvious.

“Astrid?” Rolf proposed.

“She lives in a different city,” Soren returned.

“The laguz envoy who travelled with us?” Mist suggested.

“Ooh! What about Tormod and Muarim?” Rolf added.

“Devdan, Marcia, Maklov…” Mist listed off her fingers.

“Tanith and Sigrun?” Rolf reminded, and she put up too more fingers.

“I get it,” Soren stopped them. “You count yourself lucky to have so many allies. Congratulations.” He shook his head. “Those people might be obligated to help us if they feel any sort of debt to Ike, but there is still the problem of discovering if they are in the city, and if so, where.”

Mist and Rolf stared in surprise.

“Obligated?” Mist repeated.

“Debt?” said Rolf. 

“They’re our _friends_.”

“Semantics,” he said with a wave of his hand.

Soren led them to the catacombs under the Mainal Cathedral and felt he was retracing his footsteps from the last time he was here. Therefore it was strange to be accompanied by Mist and Rolf. Under his instruction, the trio filled a basket with food, Soren’s tome, and some rolled blank papers. When the guards stopped them at the door, they claimed to be making a delivery.

“Whatever. Go on in,” the guards said with a lazy wave of his hand.

Once inside, Soren headed to the front desk.

“Can I help you?” asked the old man at the desk, who was, fortunately, not the same librarian Soren had met before.

“We’re looking for…our friends. Do you possess records that would tell us if they are in the city?”

The old man licked his dry lips and smoothed down his beard. “That would entirely depend on the nature of your friends.”

“A beorc boy named Tormod and a tiger laguz name Muarim,” Mist said first. “They’re from the laguz colony in the Grann Desert.”

“Ah yes, I know those names.” The old man shuffled around the files and shelves behind his desk. “They currently serve as semi-official liaisons, representing laguz citizens in the court.” He shuffled a while longer, and then seemed to find what he was looking for. “I am afraid they are both away at the moment, in the desert. But they are expected to return for another hearing in two months’ time.”

Rolf asked next: “How about any of these soldiers: Devdan, Makalov, or Marcia? They fought in the war.”

“Without surnames, the names of their commanding officers, or their official rank and regiment assignment, I cannot help you.”

“A laguz envoy of beasts and birds came to Sienne four months ago,” Soren decided to ask, “Ambassadors of the Laguz Alliance. Are any of them still here?”

The old man shook his head. “Ah, I remember those strange visitors clearly. But I’m afraid they are long gone, having returned to their distant homes with news of their success. The way I understand it, permanent ambassadors will be assigned in-”

Soren cut him off, “How about Commander Sigrun or Captain Tanith of the Holy Guard?”

The man’s eyes lit up in interest. “You claim such esteemed holy pegasus knights as your friends?”

“Our company served General Sigrun three years ago, and Tanith fought alongside us in the Mad King’s War,” Mist explained with a fond smile.

“Be that as it may,” the old man said carefully, “I’m afraid their whereabouts are confidential. Whether they are currently by the Apostle’s side or off somewhere on a mission, I do not know. You understand, I hope?”

Soren nodded once; this was a dead end. But before turning to leave, he asked one more thing: “Could you draw up the form a mercenary company would need to conduct work in the empire?”

The man seemed surprised by the request. “Well, certainly, if you are willing to wait a moment.”

“We are. While you’re at it, draw up a document for the immediate release and drop of all charges against eight persons arrested for conducting mercenary work without a license.”

“Ah, I sense a pattern here,” the man chuckled before setting about his work.

Soren, Mist, and Rolf wandered around the atrium and adjacent halls while they waited. In addition to drawers of records, shelves of books, and stacks of scrolls, there was a large array of historical artifacts on display near the entrance.

“Soren! Rolf! Look!” Mist suddenly exclaimed, pointing to a row of cases containing ancient armor and weapons. “It’s Ike’s sword!”

Soren didn’t need to be a weapons expert to recognize the holy sword Ragnell. The blade Ike had used to fight the Black Knight and cut down Ashnard was now hidden behind glass in this dark place. Having seen the sword in Ike’s hand, flashing in battle, running with blood, it seemed oddly tame and innocuous here. And seeing it made him miss Ike with a bitter pang.

“I don’t get it,” Rolf asked in confusion, “What’s it doing here?”

Mist answered in a soft voice. “Lord Sephiran caught sight of Ike holding it back in Melior. He said it was a Begnion relic and belonged in Sienne with its sister blade.” She pointed to the glass case directly beside this one. The name plate read ‘Alondite.’ Her voice grew even quieter as she continued: “The thing is... Now that I’m standing here, I recognize that sword too. ‘ _Alondite’_ … That’s the sword the Black Knight wielded against Ike…which means it’s the sword that killed father.” She took a step back. “Ragnell was father’s before it was Ike’s, which means…it’s probably the one…” Her voice lapsed into silence as she moved her gaze from one sword to the other. “Mother… father…”

“It is the man, not the blade, who takes the life,” Rolf offered, sounding as if he’d heard the platitude somewhere before. It may not have been consoling, considering her own father had killed her mother, but Rolf grasped Mist’s hand to make up for these less-than-comforting words.

“Sephiran must have collected it from the ruins of Castle Nados,” Soren remarked (also unhelpfully).

The records keeper soon finished the forms and called them back to the atrium. Soren accepted them and the trio left. With any luck, they would get them signed in a few days—he was never without a backup plan.

After sharing his strategy, Soren was surprised to see Mist take charge and make it happen. Like Ike, she didn’t shy away from giving orders when she needed to, and she had good instincts for this kind of thing. After submitting official requests for certification and to have the mercenaries released, they entered another ineffective (and quite meaningless) request to meet with the apostle (a request at which the clerk laughed outright). Then the trio placed themselves in strategic positions around the palace to conduct reconnaissance for three days. They watched and listened for an ideal target: some servant, handmaid, or lady-in-waiting of the apostle herself.

Eventually they found the perfect mark: a young, talkative woman named Clarisse. Despite her glossy hair and brightly-colored, floral robes, she was poor and uneducated—a mere servant. She lived near the outskirts, but every morning and night, a soldier escorted her to and from the palace.

The next morning, Soren, Mist, and Rolf waited for her on her street. Then, when she and her escort passed, Mist pretended to fall and hurt her ankle. “Oh no! Oh please, sir. Can you help me? Oh, I don’t think I can stand! It hurts so much!”

Apparently Mist was as poor an actor as Soren, but the soldier seemed to believe her. Clarisse waved him on and waited patiently against the wall of the nearest building while he tested Mist’s ankle.

Mist gave an exaggerated moan of false pain and insisted the soldier help her to the nearest apothecary. Mist was young, pretty, charmingly innocent, and she could be forceful when she wanted.

“No, you go. I’ll be fine,” Clarisse urged the soldier, smiling at his good deed.

When he and Mist were gone, Soren took a steadying breath and emerged from the alleyway. Raising Rolf’s dagger, he pretended to menace the woman. “Don’t scream,” he said, feeling completely ridiculous. “Give me your money.”

Despite his subpar performance, the woman did look terrified. Her wide-eyed gaze was fixed on his forehead, not the knife, and she began removing and handing him every piece of jewelry from her arms, neck, and hair. Soren held out his satchel in his other hand, into which these valuables disappeared.

This didn’t continue for long before Rolf appeared. They’d temporarily dyed his hair blue, and he was holding Mist’s sword, which only looked a little awkward in his hands. “Stop there, villain! It is I, General Ike, Commander of the Greil Mercenaries!” he exclaimed proudly. “Don’t worry, miss, you’re going to be okay. I will save you!” His acting was better than Mist’s and Soren’s combined, and despite his skinny stature and boyish face, Clarisse stared in awe.

Soren and Rolf pretended to fight (a pathetic act). Rolf lunged and swiped with little control over the blade, and Soren avoided his blows, occasionally lashing out with the dagger. Then, finally, Soren allowed Rolf to nick his arm. The blow was heavier than planned, and Rolf’s eyes widened in apology. Soren gave him a firm glare to indicate they shouldn’t stop.

Seizing his injured arm, he said: “Curse you General Ike, Commander of the Greil Mercenaries!” Then he dropped the satchel and ran off. Rolf let him go and returned the jewelry to the woman.

Soren watched from around a corner one block away. The soldier reappeared before Rolf could leave. “Hey, you, stop!” he called, drawing his own sword at the sight of Rolf’s.

Soren feared Rolf would panic, but the boy remained calm. “She’ll explain everything,” he called, giving Clarisse a firm salute before dashing off. Clarisse managed to stop the soldier from pursuing.

Rolf arrived at the spot where Soren was watching just as Mist reached him from behind. “Did it work?” she asked, craning to see. The soldier was helping the woman reattach her jewelry while she babbled excitedly about the altercation.

“Only time will tell,” Soren answered.

The three returned to the small inn on the outskirts of Sienne, which they’d named as their residence in their official request to meet with Sanaki. This was where a messenger or soldier would look to find them, if they were so inclined.

They laid low for another day, and as the hours ticked by, Soren wondered if his plan had failed. It certainly hadn’t been his best one, and he wondering why he seemed to have lost his ability to concoct sound strategies. He was sitting against the side of the inn, watching the road, half-hidden in shadow. But Mist found him and sat beside him.

“I miss Ike,” she whispered into her knees after several minutes of silence.

This came as no surprise to Soren, so he said nothing.

“I’ve never been away from him this long in my entire life,” she admitted, but once again, he already knew this. “It’s a lot harder than I thought it would be… And it makes me wonder if I’m weak for relying on him so much.”

Soren’s eyes flitted to the side to take in her glum face and crossed arms. Mist was strong, of that he had no doubt. She was Greil and Elena’s child as much as Ike. “You’re not weak,” he finally said. He may not have liked coddling others, but if this had been Ike expressing such doubts, Soren would have said at least that much.

“Thanks.” Mist raised and dropped her shoulders slightly.

Soren didn’t know what else to say, so he kept his eyes on the road and the spires of the city rising in the distance.

“You miss him too, don’t you?” Mist said after a while.

Soren was oddly irritating by her question, as if she’d just given him a sharp poke. It hurt more than expected, and he didn’t want to respond.

“I just thought you might understand…” Mist gave a tiny, tired sigh.

Her words left an ache in Soren’s chest that he didn’t quite understand. He already felt guilty for getting Ike and the others arrested. He already felt foolish for coming up with such an incomplete plan. But this pain was different than shame. “Yes,” he finally answered, “I do.”

The words had escaped his mouth when he’d only meant to acknowledge them in his mind. But now that they had, he couldn’t deny the truth. He missed Ike like he missed a part of his own body. Shaking his head, Soren realized he’d made a serious mistake. His awareness of Ike had been a constant ache—like walking on a badly stubbed toe. But his solution had been to cut off his entire foot. Now he was unbalanced and broken. He was missing something important.

“We’ll get him back,” Mist said, sounding more confident now. “I know we will.”

“I will do all in my power to make that come to pass,” Soren replied rigidly. They continued watching the road in silence.

Early the next morning, a pegasus knight landed outside the inn, much to the surprise and awe of the few people awake at this hour.

“Tanith!” Mist cried, rushing to see her. She gave the armored woman a big hug. Tanith seemed taken off guard by such affection, but then she smiled and hugged her back with one arm. “And Buttercup of course!” Mist cooed, turning to the pegasus, which tossed its head at its name.

“Excellent to see you, Captain Mist.” Tanith donned her usual severe-looking expression. “But where are the rest of the Greil Mercenaries? Where is General Ike?”

“They’re not here,” Mist admitted. “They’re in the port town of Ghorro, actually, in jail. We came to see Empress Sanaki, to have her set them free.”

“That is impossible,” Tanith said with a shake of her head, “We’ve heard a report that he was spotted in the city the day before yesterday.”

“That was me,” Rolf said with a bright smile, gesturing to the remnants of blue stain in his otherwise mossy hair. “We did an impersonation so the Apostle would know we’re here. No one was taking us seriously otherwise.”

“I see,” Tanith said, surveying the three carefully. “Well, I will escort you to the palace, and we can see what we can do for General Ike and the others.”


	22. CHAPTER 53: FREED

The apostle was not impressed by their charade. She sat in a mountain of robes, silk ribbons, gold tassels, and velvet sashes (or at least, Soren thought she was sitting, she could have been standing for all he knew—her form hidden by the robes of her office). Her head was held high, with an imperious glower on her face.

Roughly the same age as Rolf, she’d grown a lot in the past three years, but she still seemed too young to rule a nation. She was flanked by holy guards, and behind her knelt five handmaids, including the one Soren had terrorized. The other four had their heads bowed, faces impassive, but she was looking up, hurt and confused.

“You threatened my servant in a hairbrained scheme to manipulate _me_ ,” Sanaki said with grave authority. “I should have all three of you thrown into prison at once!”

Soren had had no dealings with the empress during their last visit in Sienne (not after finding the young monarch stowed away on their ship with a twisted ankle). He’d almost forgotten what a brat she was. “Ike and the others are already sitting in jail for conducting mercenary work without license,” Soren replied. “I have the proper paperwork here. Sign it and we will go.” 

“You do not tell me what to do, mercenary,” Sanaki warned. “And you do not speak until prompted.”

Soren ignored her. “Your own soldiers followed Ike into battle. They respect him and would not be pleased to learn he has been imprisoned. Neither would Queen Elincia, with whom you wish to maintain amicable relations.”

Sanaki was clearly annoyed but remained composed. “Do not worry yourself, mercenary,” she said. “I will free your commander. General Ike served his purpose well, and that does not go unrewarded in my empire. I merely wished to impress upon you the seriousness of your idiotic plan. Should it happen again, I will not be so merciful.”

Soren said nothing, but Mist spoke up. “Thank you, Empress Sanaki. We truly appreciate your generosity in meeting with us and granting our wishes. The citizens of Begnion are fortunate to have such a noble ruler.”

Sanaki seemed amused by her flattery. “I see you, at least, have more manners than your brother or this lowborn cur,” she said with a sigh, glancing a moment at Soren with disinterest. Then she waved her hand. “Tanith, the papers.”

Soren handed over the scrolls, which Tanith brought to Sanaki on a small golden tray. One of Sanaki’s servants brought her a pen and ink while another brought ribbon, a candle, and a bar of wax. A third brought the empress’s seal of office in a small velvet-lined box. 

The empress read the documents before signing, scrolling, and sealing them. Tanith dropped it in a travel canister and handed it back to Soren.

“I trust you’ve read the work agreement?” Sanaki asked. “You understand that seven percent of each job must be paid to the theocracy by the end of each year or before leaving the country. Contracts completed at the behest of a government or military agent, however, will not be subject to taxation. The license lasts for three years. If the Greil Mercenaries wish to continue operating in Begnion after that point, a new license must be drafted.”

“I understand,” Soren said.

“Seven percent?” Rolf grumbled, “We never had to pay taxes in Crimea.”

“ _Shhh!”_ Mist hissed. Soren imagined she understood that the mercenaries wouldn’t be reporting their income or paying any taxes, and no one would bother hunting them down for it.

Sanaki frowned, perhaps suspecting this fact. “Tanith, see to it that these three are given a carriage back to Ghorro. You are dismissed.”

Tanith travelled with them to Ghorro, and despite her usually reserved nature, she, Mist, and Rolf seemed to chat incessantly on the journey. Soren listened off and on, hoping for the occasional detail about the occupation of Daein, the resettlement of Flaguerre and Mugill, the progression of Queen Elincia’s reign, Begnion’s stance on the Laguz Alliance, or even the state of the newly-minted laguz citizens in the desert. But the trio spoke little of politics.

Soren didn’t really mind. He had other things to worry about, such as his inevitable reunion with Ike. He feared Ike knew this whole jail situation was his machination. And if he didn’t already, Soren worried what would happen when he found out—which was inevitable because Soren already knew he couldn’t keep it a secret. The guilt of the betrayal and the stupidity of the whole thing squeezed harder on his heart each mile closer to Ghorro.

“Soren you don’t look so good,” Rolf noted, as the last hour finally arrived.

“I’ll be glad to be out of this carriage,” Soren lied, extending his legs as far as the close confines would allow and pretending a cramp.

“Oh, that’s for sure!” Rolf stretched his arms above his head.

“I hope everyone’s okay,” Mist said softly, leaning her forearms on her knees. “Ike and everyone, and the horses too. How long have we been away?”

“Three weeks,” Soren replied. It had been the expected duration of this little project, but it seemed so long now.

“I hope they’re okay,” Mist repeated.

Their concern was unwarranted. They approached the outpost with Tanith strutting in front, fully armored and official-looking. A guard was oiling the front door’s hinges and immediately snapped to attention at the sight. While he seemed to be figuring out how his tongue worked, Tanith, Soren, Mist, and Rolf strode inside.

No one was waiting at the front desk, but two men were arm-wrestling at a small table in the back. One of the men was Boyd. He wore the canvas shirt and trousers of a prisoner but no chains. His opponent was a Begnion soldier, huffing and puffing in his struggle against Boyd’s arm. The mercenary was smiling, obviously working hard to push his opponent’s hand to the tabletop. Then he slapped it down with finality, immediately standing and striking a victorious pose. “Third round goes to Boyd!” he announced to no one in particular. The soldier shook his head in defeat, but he was smiling too.

“Are we interrupting something?” Tanith asked dryly.

The soldier hopped to his feet and donned a look of terror when he recognized her badge of office. “My sincerest apologies, Captain!” He saluted and then bowed for good measure. “There is no excuse for this lack of decorum, ma’am.”

“Rolf!” Boyd cried, running to give his brother a hug.

The soldier watched him go, extending a powerless hand.

Tanith raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he one of your prisoners?”

“Well, yes, but…you wouldn’t run off on me, would you, Boyd?” the soldier asked hopefully.

“Any other time, of course not. But I think today’s a running day! It is mission accomplished, bro?” he tousled Rolf’s hair so hard he managed to shake his entire head.

“Sure is!” Rolf replied with a thumbs-up. 

“Get me your commander,” Tanith snapped. The soldier darted into the back, and she drummed her fingers on the desk while she waited.

“Have you guys been alright?” Rolf asked Boyd.

He smiled. “I hope you haven’t been worrying. We’re fine. The guards aren’t bad guys. They’re just doing their job.”

Tanith scoffed. “It doesn’t appear they are doing their jobs to me.”

Boyd chuckled. “No, I guess not. They got pretty lax with us. How’s it going, Tanith?”

“I am well, thank you.” She gave a small smile. “In fact, I am glad to hear the Greil Mercenaries have enjoyed their stay in the Begnion prison system. Please come again.”

He laughed even harder. “Have you been working on that joke all the way from Sienne?”

“Yes,” Tanith admitted.

Boyd bent over laughing, but Tanith grew serious again when the soldier returned with his commander in tow. “Get that prisoner back in the yard!” he snapped at someone behind them. Soren realized the hinge-fixing soldier had been standing there the entire time.

“Sir, I don’t think-” he began, but Tanith cut him off:

“That won’t be necessary. The Greil Mercenaries are free to go. Soren, show him.”

He presented Sanaki’s scroll, and the commander paled at the sight of her official seal. He removed it with trembling hands. “You kids really-”

“Not kids,” Soren corrected him in a lowered voice. He enjoyed the man’s expression as he read the letter.

“ _General_ Ike!” he exclaimed, “He was telling the truth _?_ ” His soldiers looked stunned. “The Greil Mercenaries…” He glanced up at Soren, Boyd, Rolf, and Mist as if seeing them for the first time. “We’re so sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Tanith waved her hand dismissively. “Now release them.”

The commander saluted, and he and his men walked briskly toward the yard. Soren and the others followed after, since no one had told them not to. After Boyd’s arm-wrestling contest with the guard, he wasn’t surprised by what he saw:

Two soldiers were chatting with Gatrie and Oscar by the wall, telling stories and gesticulating exaggeratedly. Meanwhile, Shinon and one of the inmates were having a dart-throwing contest against a hand-painted target nearby. They appeared well matched. In the middle of the yard, Ike and another inmate were wrestling within a dirt circle. They wore nothing but the canvas slacks of their prison uniforms, kicking up dust that stuck to their sweaty skin. Rhys was hovering nearby as the referee, with his hand half-raised to call the match. Mia and another inmate were watching and panting nearby, a sign they’d already had their turn in the contest. Behind them, Titania was sitting backwards on a chair while another inmate combed and braided her hair. She was talking to a guard standing in front of her, who appeared to have just had her hair brushed and braided into two long plaits. The inmate doing the styling had numerous rows of tiny braids in his own hair, apparently an expert.

Soren could hardly believe what he was seeing; the Greil Mercenaries had turned this jail upside-down in less than a month. After a few moments, everyone seemed to notice the new arrivals. Oscar launched himself off the wall and flew to his brothers, wrapping them both in a hug. Soren realized for the first time just how much Boyd had outgrown his older brother, and Rolf was growing tall as well, even if he still looked young. All three rocked back and forth.

Meanwhile Ike threw his opponent into the dirt like a sack of flour and sprinted to his sister. “Mist!” he cried happily.

“Ike!” she raced to meet him.

They embraced until Mist pulled away, her face drawn in disgust. “Ugh, Brother, you reek!” She looked down at her blouse, which was now blotched with sweat and dirt. Ike brushed the back of his head in sheepish apology, but he was smiling. His hair was getting long.

Titania jogged up to them, and her braid untied itself with each step. The soldiers congregated by their commander, wondering what was going on, while Rhys, Gatrie, Shinon, and Mia came to greet the others as well. Even Shinon was smiling, giving Rolf a high-five and welcoming him back. As happy as they were, most of the mercenaries even seized Soren’s hand and patted his back. (Only Mia violated the unspoken boundary and wrapped him in a hug he couldn’t escape.) When Ike shook his hand, he said softly, “Thanks for making it back.”

Whether or not Ike meant the words to hurt, they did. Soren wondered what he knew. But even that couldn’t quell the flood of relief he felt at just seeing him again. Something clicked into place, and Soren no longer felt overwhelmed by his presence. 

Tanith led them out of the military outpost, assuring the soldiers and their commander that they wouldn’t be punished, but she did advise they manage their remaining prisoners more professionally. They hung their heads in shame and promised to do so. Tanith seemed satisfied.

She remained with them as they went down to the harbor to extract their belongings from the warehouse. She chatted with Titania and the others, but Soren wondered if that was the only reason she was hanging around.

“Will you be heading back to Sienne?” Ike asked her as evening began to close around them. “You should stay with us a night at least. We owe you.”

Tanith nodded. “Thank you, General. I will certainly take you up on that offer. With your permission, I will also do what is in my power to aid you. The Apostle has asked me to attend your needs. She would see you appeased enough to put this insult behind you.”

Soren wondered if this was true. 

“Our needs?” Ike repeated.

“Summer is coming, and summer in Begnion is hot,” Tanith explained. “I expect you will all need new clothes.”

The mercenaries glanced at one another. Having changed into their usual clothing, which consisted of long sleeves and heavy fabrics. They were already sweating, and in battle they’d be wearing additional layers of leather, chainmail, and armor.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ike agreed.

“Yay, shopping!” Mist and Rolf exclaimed together.

Titania chuckled. “I suppose we ought to look presentable if we are to be _official_ mercenaries.”

“We can get outfitted tomorrow,” Ike decided. “Thanks, Tanith.”

That night, they stayed at the inn from which they’d been taken prisoner. The innkeeper was glad to see them and ordered the cook to prepare a special meal. Oscar and Titania showered her with praise for how well she’d taken care of their steeds. “My sons enjoyed riding them,” the woman explained. “Kept them fit and healthy. But I think they’ll be sorry to see them go.”

The rest of the inn’s residents didn’t understand the occasion but enjoyed the happy atmosphere. A couple of young women took an interest in Shinon, who cried a couple tears of relief, and Soren suspected this was an act to get one on his lap, dabbing his tears, while the other whispered comfort in his opposite ear.

While the mercenaries ate, drank, and cajoled with one another and the other guests, Soren watched Ike from afar and marveled at the fact that he no longer felt his presence like a blaze. After a while, he decided it was like being able to see his own hands, or his own body, or the nose in front of his face. People could use their hands without looking at them, but they could also adjust their attention any time they wished. Soren practiced this now, focusing and un-focusing his Branded sense inward and outward.

Finding it easy, Soren could only chastise himself for taking so long to understand such a simple concept. Ike was a part of him—and always would be. _Even if he shuns me for what I’ve done,_ he added mentally, gathering his nerve. He told himself he couldn’t delay any longer. He had to tell Ike the truth and accept the consequences.

Ike was currently sitting with Tanith at a corner table, and approaching them felt like walking to the gallows. But if he put this off any longer, he was afraid he’d end up screaming his guilt across the room for all to hear.

“Ike, might I have a word?”

He was red-cheeked from the celebratory ale everyone was drinking, but he didn’t seem drunk. His eyes were clear, and his lips were quick to smile. “Soren,” he said, “Join us. Tanith was just offering us a job.”

 _So that’s why she’s been sticking around,_ Soren thought, but then he shook the thought away. It didn’t matter. “It is important that we speak in private,” he insisted.

Ike’s smile disappeared and he gave a small nod. “Excuse us,” he said to Tanith.

She waved her hand. “Think nothing of it. We shall discuss this more upon your return.”

Soren led Ike out of the inn, but once they were outside, they kept walking side-by-side and Soren didn’t know which of them was leading. Eventually they reached a stone outcropping that overlooked the harbor, and here Soren finally planted his feet and stopped.

“Well?” Ike said, taking a couple steps farther but stopping too. He turned to Soren and leaned his elbows against the wooden railing.

The words came spilling out: “Ike, I’m sorry. I am the one who reported us for arrest. I was selfish and got everyone thrown in jail so I could get away. It was a stupid plan. Hardly a plan at all. I just did it—I made it up as I went. Ensuring I wasn’t arrested too was hardly more than an afterthought. I didn’t account for Mist and Rolf. I didn’t consider if something should happen while the rest of you were in prison. I didn’t even think through if and how I would be able to free you. It was the worst plan I’ve ever devised, and I am so sorry.” Soren couldn’t meet his eye. He just waited for a response, staring at Ike’s filthy shoes.

“I’m a little confused,” Ike finally said. “Are you apologizing for getting us arrested, or for having a bad strategy?”

Soren paused. He had intended the first, but the second had come out of his mouth. “Both, I guess,” he admitted.

To his astonishment, Ike laughed. It may have been more like a bark than a laugh, but it sounded genuine. “Of course you are.”

“What?” Soren finally looked at his face, wondering if he could be ridiculing him. But Ike was glancing to the side, apparently unable to look at his face either. Soren nearly blushed, irrationally feeling he’d stolen a peek at something he shouldn’t have. But more important than this aberrant feeling was what Ike’s expression revealed—he didn’t look upset at all. “Aren’t you angry?”

“I was at first,” Ike said, looking at the ground now. “I immediately suspected you, and the idea infuriated me. But after a few days, I realized I was mad at myself. I realized that if you did it, then it was only because I didn’t give you any other choice. You asked for furlough, and I wouldn’t give it to you. So you took it yourself, by any means necessary. Of course you did. Because you’re you.”

Soren couldn’t tell whether this was admonishment or praise.

“It’s one of the reasons you’re an amazing tactician. And one of the things I admire most about you. You always find a way.”

Soren was dumbstruck. _Admire me?_ he thought. _No—I admire him. That’s the way it’s always been._

Finally Ike looked at him, and his gaze jumped from one eye to the other like he was searching for something. “I was being selfish, and I knew it. But I thought you were being selfish too. I convinced myself I was doing what was best for the company…and for you. So I thought I was justified… I’m sorry.”

This was not at all how Soren expected this conversation to go, and he still didn’t know what to say.

“You can leave, if you still need to.” Ike took a deep breath. “But don’t think for a second that I want to you to.”

“I… I will stay,” Soren managed. “I want to stay, as long as you’ll have me.”

“So can we call it even?” he asked hopefully.

“Not at all,” Soren replied, but when he saw Ike’s crestfallen expression, he amended: “I mean, on my part! We cannot be ‘even’ because I didn’t just betray you; my actions effected the whole company. You are the commander. You cannot let that pass.”

Ike smiled. “Still giving advice, huh?”

“Well, it is my job,” Soren returned.

“Okay. We don’t need to tell the others. But in return…you’ll owe me one. Someday, I’ll call in that debt, and even if you don’t like it, you’ve got to do what I say, no questions asked.”

“Very well then,” Soren nodded. He trusted him not to do anything too cruel.

Ike laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. Then he steered him forward until they were both leaning on the fence at the edge of the cliff. Letting go, Ike pressed his forearms into the wood and looked at the roofs of the warehouses far below. Soren cast his gaze over the lantern posts on the boardwalk, the moonlight on the water, and the ships coming in and out of the harbor.

After a while, Ike spoke again. “So how was Empress Sanaki?”

“Insufferable,” Soren answered. “Honestly, I don’t know how you managed her last time.”

Ike laughed. “Well, her heart’s in the right place.” They were silent a while longer, until Ike asked: “So, are you going to tell me why you had to leave so bad? Did it have something to do with being Branded?”

Soren shivered despite the relatively warm night air. “Yes and no,” he answered slowly, “I think it had more to do with just being me.”

“You really don’t like people, do you?”

Soren looked up at the sky. “I like the Greil Mercenaries well enough.” Glancing sidelong at Ike, he added, “And you’re tolerable.”

Ike laughed. “You’re tolerable yourself, though you might try not to be.”

“I suppose I should take that as a compliment,” Soren replied, and they lapsed into silence again.

After a while, Ike asked, “So you really just needed space?”

Soren sighed. “Is that so hard to understand?”

“I guess not,” Ike admitted. “I just didn’t want to believe it.” After a long pause he asked, “Is it really so hard to be a Branded among beorc? I mean, no one in the Greil Mercenaries would treat you any different if they knew.”

Soren shook his head. “Yes, they would,” he said flatly. “Very few people are like you, Ike.” He wasn’t planning on saying anything else, but Ike was looking at him with those intent eyes of his, waiting for more. So he continued: “People like me aren’t meant to exist. Beorc consider us monsters. They call us cursed. They claim death and calamity follow in our footsteps.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ike declared in annoyance.

“Is it? The woman who raised me lost everything and died miserable and alone. The same is true of the man who trained me.” Elena was the next example that sprang to mind, but Soren bit his tongue.

“You can’t blame yourself for those things,” Ike growled.

Soren hated giving Ike reason to despise and fear him; he didn’t want Ike to think he was a monster. But these thoughts were always in his head, and voicing them now felt like an immense release. “I told you I lived with some priests, for a time, but I didn’t tell you they were murdered. The temple was burned down. Everyone died. And then…they burned even more people alive. I had to leave or I would be blamed too. I was always moving on, but no matter where I went, either I was hurt or someone else was—or both, more often than not… Eventually I joined the Greil Mercenaries, and it became my job to seek out strife, maiming and killing others whenever coins crossed hands… Ashnard attacked Melior while I was there. War broke out, and your father was killed. Then it was my job to plan battle after battle, devising the ruin of our enemies. How… How can you say I don’t bring death in my wake?”

Ike had listened without another interruption, but now that Soren’s lecture was over, he shook his head. “Because that would be _ridiculous_ ,” he repeated. “You’re the most rational person I know, Soren. You can’t really believe in curses? People die. Yes, there was a war, but you’re no more to blame for it than me. It happened, and we’re lucky enough to be alive on the other side of it.”

Soren let Ike’s comforting words wash over him. “You’re right,” he admitted.

Ike sighed. “Soren, why don’t you ever tell me that you’re hanging on to stuff like that?”

He shook his head in non-answer. Ike could never understand. He had to be careful; it was a matter of self-preservation. To be overheard would be to be cast out.

“So anything else you want to tell me? Any other reservations you have about living amongst us beorc?” Ike held out his hands as if ready to receive a large package.

Soren was silent for a while. Ike was asking him to speak, to lay it all out, to clear the air. He felt he’d already bared his soul tonight. He didn’t think he wanted or needed to say more, but he opened his mouth anyway. “Ike, do you know what it means? My being a Branded?”

Ike tapped his chin in mock-thought. “That you incorrectly think everyone hates you, you’re a little high-strung, and you generally have low self-esteem.”

Soren shook his head at Ike’s joke. He exhaled deeply through his nose. “It means I am going to live a long time.” He hadn’t spoken about this with anyone except Stefan, but he thought Ike deserved to know. “You have to have noticed—I age slowly.”

“And here I thought we just weren’t feeding you enough.”

Soren turned on him, frustrated that he wasn’t taking this seriously. “This is not a laughing matter!”

But Ike’s face was no longer joking. It just looked kind. “So what?” he asked. “Ranulf is three times my age, but we’re still friends.”

Soren had not known Ranulf’s age, but this was unsurprising. According to his research, cat laguz didn’t even leave adolescence until thirty years old. He assembled his thoughts before answering. “You may be friends now,” he finally said, “But how long will that last? Beorc and laguz are too different. Their lives don’t match up. And Branded are different still, somewhere in between.”

“You’ll still be my friend no matter what,” Ike assured. “So don’t worry about it.”

“And if the others notice?”

“Ah—” Ike’s joking tone had returned “—they’ll just be jealous of your youthful complexion.”

Soren could only shake his head at Ike, restraining the temptation to smile. His lips trembled. “Idiot.”

“Idiot?” Ike repeated, putting an arm around his shoulders and turned them both back to the road. “You’re one to talk, Mr. Get-my-friends-arrested-with-very-poor-planning.”

“Then I guess we’re both fools,” Soren conceded, unable to stop himself from smiling this time.


	23. CHAPTER 54: THE CARAVAN

Tanith had the mercenaries dressed in lightweight fabric, pliable leather armor, and wide-looped chain mail. “There is a forge in Sienne that produces armor for us pegasus knights,” she told Gatrie, while testing the weight of one of his pauldrons. “The metal is incredibly light and strong. I would see you clad in it if I could.”

Gatrie rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “No, no! This old armor and me go way back. Lucky it is. I don’t even feel it anymore!”

Allowed freedom in his attire, Soren chose a black, sleeveless jerkin and a pair of loose-fitting gray trousers cinched above the ankles and held at the waist with a green sash. Since Tanith was buying, he also opted for a new pair of black leather sandals which strapped tightly to his feet and had strong grips. He ran back and forth and sidestepped a few times to make sure they’d be reliable in battle.

“Who knew he was such a dancer?” Shinon teased, but Soren ignored him.

He also ordered a special holster to be made for his tome. He watched the leatherworker carefully as she fashioned it (much to her frustration) and made suggestions and asked questions to be sure it would be as he wanted. When he strapped the finished product securely onto his hip, he was pleased to find his tome fit perfectly.

Once again, Shinon teased him, saying, “I’ve seen those before—usually mas carrying their babies. But I guess it’s good to start early.” As usual, Soren ignored him.

Properly outfitted and comfortable in their new clothes, well-fed, well-rested, and with weapons sharped to deadly points, the company assembled before Ike to hear his announcement.

“We’ve got a job offer,” he began, jerking his head to toward Tanith. “A six-month contract guarding a trade caravan of between one hundred and two hundred wagons. They start off about a month from now in Cosmin; that’s the port city on the tip of the Begnion peninsula. We’d go north with them as far as the Grann Desert, protecting them from raiders. It’s a big job, though. What do you think?”

“That’s a lot of wagons,” Titania noted “We’d be spread thin and have to take turns sleeping during the day to guard them at night.”

“They will provide you space on their wagons,” Tanith spoke up. “They are eager for the assistance. They lose much of their wares and even their people on this trek each year.”

“How is the pay?” Soren asked next.

Ike answered. “A half-percent of their total sales at each town to which they arrive safely.” He looked to Tanith for confirmation.

“I assure you, it adds up. A fair wage,” she declared.

Soren nodded. There were many towns and cities between the southern coast and the Grann Desert. He was satisfied with that number, but the others still seemed to be considering it.

“Will we be passing Astrid’s house?” Rolf asked hopefully.

“What’s with you and Astrid?” jeered Gatrie. “You in love or something?”

Rolf seemed confused. “She’s my friend. We trained a lot together,” he answered, “And besides, she like girls, not boys. You know that.”

Gatrie went pink. His infatuation with the noblewoman was the reason he’d agreed to rejoin the Greil Mercenaries back when Ike encountered the pair on that Begnion passenger ship. Their relationship had never led anywhere, and now Soren understood why.

“In answer to your question, Rolf,” Tanith answered, bringing the conversation back to the matter at hand, “Yes, you will. I can send word ahead, if you’d like. I am sure she will be glad to see you all. I believe Marcia and Makalov are currently working for Lord Baum. There is a chance they will still be there when you arrive.”

“That decides it—we’ve got to go!” Rolf turned to Ike with pleading eyes.

“I agree!” Mist announced.

“We could see our pals Tormod and Muarim in the Grann, couldn’t we?” Mia chimed in with a big smile. “And maybe we’ll run into Stefan. That man owes me a rematch!” She drew her sword in excitement, and her grin turned violent.

“So, is everyone on board?” Ike asked, scanning their faces.

Everyone raised their hands.

Tanith bowed gratefully. “I know the merchants will appreciate it.”

Ike turned to her. “Just one thing. Should we expect to see Muston, Jorge, Daniel, or, uh, Aimee on this expedition?”

Tanith narrowed her eyes knowingly. “There are rumors about you and Aimee, you know.”

“Completely unfounded rumors,” Ike replied flatly.

Tanith released a light laugh. “Not to worry, Ike. She won’t be there. Last I heard, she and the others were in Daein.”

Ike looked immensely relieved.

They traveled south at a leisurely pace, living off of the wilderness or off the coin Tanith had given them as an advance on their contract. Everyone was in high spirits, and even Soren felt at peace. Not only had Ike forgiven him, he’d eased some of the worries that had weighed heavily on his mind for years.

The journey to Cosmin passed in bliss, and when they arrived, they entered a sprawling encampment of wagons just outside the city limits. Here they sought out the old woman Tanith had told them about, but she found them first. She was withered with age and walked with a gnarled staff. Her face was wrinkled into deep fissures and her ears stretched large and long. According to Tanith, she was the matriarch of one of the oldest merchant families in Begnion, a nomadic clan that had existed for hundreds of years.

She was called Mama Oda, and despite her age, there was a youthful spark in her pale-blue eyes. Currently, that spark was mingled with disgust. She wasn’t pleased to see them.

“Mercenaries, eh?” she said, appraising them and apparently unimpressed. “We ask for soldiers to protect us, and all the theocracy can do is send bandits? You’re more likely to rob us blind than the highwaymen!”

“Are not,” Ike replied eloquently.

Titania’s tone was polite but frank as she followed this with her own reply: “Captain Tanith of the Holy Guard has said there are no soldiers to spare. We’re all you’ve got. But we are honorable. We will see you safe on your journey.”

“We’ll see about that,” Oda huffed, turning on the spot and swinging her staff around with force. If anyone had been standing next to her, they would have been bludgeoned. “We leave in two days,” she called over her shoulder. As she hobbled away, she barked orders at any man, woman, or child she passed. 

“Tanith promised an appreciative client, didn’t she?” Oscar sighed under his breath. Shinon and Boyd snickered.

Ike shrugged. “She’ll appreciate us in time.”

“What now?” Rhys asked, his voice timid.

“We explore?” Ike offered, and set off in answer to his own suggestion. The others followed. As they walked, merchants caught sight of them and called in hawking voices, trying to sell them everything from Crimean persimmons to spicy black teas from Asmin. Soren counted a hundred and twenty-nine wagons—with more expected in the next few days, according to the merchants they spoke to.

They’d nearly completed their circuit of the wagon village when they heard running steps behind them. “There you are!” said a breathless voice.

The mercenaries turned to the newcomer, who was, to Soren’s astonishment, the spitting image of Tanith. However, this version of Tanith appeared to be a man. They had roughly the same height and build, the same straight brown hair cut short against their neck, and the same dark eyes. But whereas Tanith’s were serious, his were smiling. “I hear Mama Oda didn’t give you the warmest of welcomes. I’m sorry I couldn’t get to you first.” His smile was equal parts embarrassment and charm.

“Hello…Tanith’s brother?” Ike guessed.

The man laughed. “Let me guess—she didn’t tell you I’d be here?”

“She didn’t tell us you existed,” Ike replied frankly.

He rubbed the back of his head. “She does like to keep family and work separate. Anyway, my name is Roark. I suppose I’m one of the merchants you’ll be guarding.” He stuck out his hand, and Ike took it in a firm shake.

“That explains why she wanted us for this job,” Soren said as if answering some lingering question, but he doubted anyone else had suspected her of having motives beyond her duty.

Roark explained that he was part of a merchant family specializing in weaponry, and in response, Ike’s sword came out for examination. They chatted avidly about things Soren knew nothing about and had no interest in learning. Having finished their round of the camp, he wandered off. They’d passed a wagon selling tomes and rare scrolls not long ago, and he was intent on finding it again.

Within the first week, a band of thieves crept up on the wagons in the rear of the train. The Greil Mercenaries swiftly scared them off, only needing to kill two and give a few others some small wounds to nurse. The surviving thieves scampered off without delay. Ike commanded the mercenaries not to pursue.

Oda was wide-eyed when Ike told her it was already over, and her eyes only widened when the nearest merchants began expounding on the mercenaries’ heroic feats. After that, all the merchants were more accepting of them.

The work was fairly easy. The caravan moved slowly, with many of the families taking turns walking and riding. The mercenaries, having no wagon of their own, were usually walking. Their possessions were piled in the back of one of Roark’s family’s carts, and their horses walked behind it on lead ropes. This was also where the mercenaries took turns sleeping.

Roark’s ‘family,’ as it were, were not his blood relatives. This caused the mercenaries some confusion at first. The sandy-haired family of eight (two grandmothers, one grandfather, a mother, a father, an uncle, and two teenagers) belonged to one of the nomadic trading clans, like Oda’s. But they’d adopted Roark at a young age, and now they considered him one of their own. However, this adoption didn’t extend to Tanith.

Soren didn’t completely understand the traditions of these clans, but it was easy to see that they didn’t approve of Roark’s continued relationship with his twin sister. “I joined the family around the same time Tanith joined the Holy Guard,” he explained. “We were just kids, but she was always the more responsible one. Mama Tris thinks she abandoned me or something like that.”

This being the case, the family was reluctant to share their wagons with the eleven mercenaries. And even if they hadn’t been hired by dreaded-sister-Tanith, Soren couldn’t really blame the family for resenting them. There was hardly room in the cart for their belongings or for them to sleep, and because the mercenaries were always around, Roark’s adopted parents felt pressured to feed them at every mealtime, spending time and money they didn’t have on the extra food.

Before long, however—whether he was trying to or not—Ike won them over by injecting himself into the family as only he could. He was considerate toward to the elderly grandparents (especially Mama Tris) without being overtly polite, he played a ball kicking and throwing game with the two young teenagers (a boy and a girl) without coddling them, and he was often helpful to the parents without making it seem like a big deal. Meanwhile, Roark taught Ike the basics of making weapons and armor in their mobile kilns. In return, Ike taught Roark tricks of combat.

After only a couple weeks on the road, the pair had become inseparable. They spent almost every free moment together, and perhaps that was what made the cheery young man and accommodating family so detestable to Soren. Ike and Roark shared meals, played games, and toured each new town together. Roark was (apparently) quite funny, and soon it became commonplace to hear Ike burst into laughter somewhere in the distance. But it was always in the distance; Soren didn’t get too close.

Roark watched Ike spar and shouted encouragement from the sidelines. In return, Ike watch him work the forge with whispered awe, as if afraid to break his concentration. Ike tested every weapon he made, and Roark became the only person other than Mist that Ike trusted to iron out the knots in his back when his scar from the Black Knight acted up. According to Ike, he had a ‘magic touch’, and according to Roark, beating on Ike’s spine was just like tempering a blade. Their teasing made Soren sick.

Ike was nearly unmistakable for the grave general he’d once been, and as Soren watched from afar, he wondered if he’d changed a lot or not at all.

He did not particularly enjoy the six months spent with the caravan. It was tedious, and there was little privacy. They zig-zagged across the land in the heat of summer, which meant the sun was searing hot and the Begnion climate humid. Soren’s clothes clung to him with sweat, and his skin toasted bronze as it always did if he spent days on-end in the sunlight. He felt like a chameleon, his skin awkwardly changing color for everyone to see, but he supposed it was better than getting the painful burns some of the others suffered, or the uneven freckles that popped up on Titania’s and Rhys’s otherwise milky complexions.

By midsummer the caravan began dividing into two sections to cover more land. This meant the mercenaries had to split up as well. Ike always took whatever section contained Roark and his family. Titania led the other.

Dividing the mercenaries’ strength was left to Ike, and he always sent Soren with Titania while keeping Mist as his deputy. Soren could think of no tactical reason for advising he remain with Ike, so he swallowed his objections every time. But he couldn’t help but feel Ike was trying to get rid of him—perhaps so he and Roark would have more time alone.

 _Ridiculous_ , Soren berated himself. _What a ridiculous thing to even think._ He told himself he had an unhealthy obsession with Ike and Roark’s friendship. He told himself Roark posed no threat to Ike’s wellbeing or Soren’s own standing. He was a reliable point of contact with the merchants; Ike had every reason to associate with him.

During their travels, the caravan visited tiny villages and giant cities alike. They were welcomed everywhere they went with the cheering voices of common folk who looked forward to their visit every year. Of course, they were also welcomed with the eager faces of bandits and thieves who anticipated it just as much.

Some of the attackers were well-trained, demonstrating skill with their weapons and the logic of premeditated, organized assaults. Others were obviously new to the whole bandit gig and attacked a wagon or two in a spur of desperation. But no matter their experience, the mercenaries always prevailed, and no merchants lost their lives.

These moments of action were the only breaks in the monotony of travel. Soren knew the attacks were a nuisance to the other mercenaries, who were making friends, trying new things, and relaxing as if on vacation. But he welcomed the sporadic violence. He hit the thieves hard no matter their level of skill. He killed those he confronted, never allowing anyone to escape. Without the constant fighting they’d endured during the war, he could tell he was becoming soft and careless. His magic was less focused and less forceful. He hardly used any advanced spells, and when he tried, they didn’t come as easily as they once did, if they came at all.

Observing his comrades in battle, Soren knew they were losing their edge too. But no one bemoaned this fact; it was to be expected. They were as good as they needed to be to defeat one small group of bandits at a time. Life was simple. Soren had even been happy—for a while. But something about this caravan (or someone) was making him actually miss the war.

In late summer they came to a city just outside the Baum family’s lands. The merchants stayed longer in larger cities, and they would plant their wagons here for a week. This gave the mercenaries plenty of time to spend with Astrid at her family’s mansion, and everyone was excited. Soren had never been particularly fond of Astrid, and luxury was wasted on him. But he was looking forward to the chance to separate Ike and Roark for a while.

Having received a letter both from Tanith and from the mercenaries via Haar’s postal service, the familiar dark-haired, pale-eyed noblewoman was waiting for them at the city gates. Her smile was shy but animate, as she greeted Ike and the others and she rode alongside them to the park where the wagons would set up. She didn’t look like she had during the war. Her armor was gone, and she was dressed more like a proper lady from a rich family. The only difference was that her dress had clearly been split and resewn as pants for easy riding. The excess material puffed out on either side like the folded wings of a pegasus.

Quiet by nature, Astrid had spoken little about herself and her family during the years of the campaign. But Soren liked to know things, and he’d gathered the crumbs she’d let slip over the months at war. Although not one of the Sainted, her family was old and well-respected. Her father held a minor position in the Begnion theocracy, and their lands were known for raising sturdy horses and keen archers for the Imperial Army.

Despite being the sole heir to the Baum family, Astrid had always preferred the study of husbandry and archery to politics. Her decision to run off and join Ike’s mercenaries had put additional pressure on an already difficult relationship with her family. Soren had no doubt they would only stress the situation by imposing as guests. But Astrid did seem pleased to see them. 

After the wagons had settled, Ike introduced her to Roark, and she smiled and shook his hand kindly. “You’re welcome to join us,” she said.

Soren couldn’t help but wince at the offer, but fortunately, Roark shook his head in bashful refusal. “Thanks, your ladyship, but I have too much work to do here. Blades don’t sell themselves!”

Soren, Ike, Mist, Shinon, Gatrie, and Rolf, would join Astrid at her father’s manse today, while Titania, Rhys, Mia, Oscar, and Boyd guarded the caravan. The city provided extra soldiers, so it wasn’t dangerous to leave the guard thin.

Astrid’s family lived outside of town. The grounds to the west of the obscenely-sized mansion were cropped into a racing track, next to which unfolded an expansive stable and a puzzle of interconnected training paddocks were young horses pranced under the whip of their masters. To the east was an enormous archery range where three dozen standing archers were shooting at an array of targets. Another two dozen were mounted, cantering around a wide field, pursuing (and hitting) mobile targets rotated by a handful of peasants laboring over cranks.

It was an impressive display. The soldiers were bedecked in shining armor cut in Begnion’s style but painted with the family’s colors: pink and white. Ike and the others praised the sight, but Astrid looked embarrassed. “Rolf, Shinon,” she said, “Care for a shooting contest?”

Rolf agreed excitedly, Shinon shrugged his consent, and the mercenaries moved toward the archery range instead of the mansion.

“Shouldn’t we pay our respects to your family first?” Mist asked hesitantly.

Astrid’s nose wrinkled. “He won’t care either way.” (The man in question was undoubtedly her father: Lord Baum.)

Mist didn’t press.

They arrived at the range, and as soon as Astrid dismounted, a servant materialized to take her reins. He bowed and led the steed away, and once again Astrid looked embarrassed. “Let’s get you outfitted. You’re all welcome to try your arm.”

Inside the building was a room of bows. They were all shapes and sizes, some wood, others horn. Astrid matched each of them with a weapon whose frame they could easily bend. Rolf and Shinon, of course, were given their choice of the most advanced bows.

“How does this one feel?” Astrid said, stringing and handing Soren a small, thin one carved out of golden-hued wood. Soren didn’t take it.

“I’ll watch,” he said curtly, having no intention of joining the contest. Such a thing could only end in humiliation.

“Suit yourself,” Astrid replied, offering the golden bow to Mist instead. “You might like this one too,” she said to her.

Soren watched the contest from the sidelines. Astrid, Shinon, and Rolf were well-matched and took the competition seriously while the others played around. Gatrie and Mist were both terrible, hardly hitting even a close target. Ike had the occasional stroke of luck and actually neared the bullseye at one point. Soren was impressed.

When the three archers had worn each other out, they called an end to the game and retired to the mansion. Here they encountered a legion of servants and soldiers, but Astrid’s parents never showed themselves. “You’ll meet them at dinner, if you want to stay for dinner, that is… I understand if you want to get back to your caravan.”

Soren could tell by the waver in her voice that she would rather they leave, but apparently Ike could not. “We’d love to stay!” he exclaimed.

Astrid told the servants to set more places in the dining hall and the cooks to prepare more food. Then she showed the mercenaries to her family’s grand baths, which occupied the rear of the mansion. She and Mist retreated to the women’s side, and the rest made their way to the men’s.

The others had worked up a sweat playing at the archery range, but Soren had done nothing of the sort. He washed himself along with the others because he had nothing else to do and nowhere to be. But he felt foolish for the waste.

As he always did when bathing without privacy, Soren kept his eyes glued to the floor and scrubbed efficiently. He didn’t take part in the others’ conversation, and he finished as quickly as possible, refusing to linger in the hot water. Only when he was finished and donning his clothes did he realize he was once again in the position of having nowhere to go and nothing to do. He slipped into the hall, and closing the door hardly muffled Ike and Gatrie’s laughter. The others were enjoying the luxurious pool and aromatic bubbles. Mercenaries like them rarely had the chance to enjoy something so fancy and would likely not emerge for some time.

Astrid and Mist were still in their bath too, and it would probably be rude to explore on his own. But since when did he care to be polite? With this thought in mind, Soren wandered down the hall, trying the handles of rooms he passed (and skipping the doors beyond which he could sense occupants). The mansion reminded Soren of Melior Castle, Temple Mainal, and the Tanas estate—it was filled with large, useless rooms.

But then Soren happened across a room that wasn’t useless at all: the library. Books stretched high to the ceiling against every wall, and a rolling ladder was attached to the shelves so readers could access the highest volumes. Soren hadn’t seen so many books in one place since he’d taken up residence in the Melior Royal Library in the days after the war. He was surprised at how good it felt to be surrounded by knowledge again.

His fingers travelled the spines of their own accord. Most of the books were written in the common tongue, but a few were recorded in the ancient language. He recognized some titles. There were histories, biographies, religious texts, scientific journals, private diaries of long-dead politicians, and even novels and books of folklore. Astrid’s ancestors had clearly had a healthy interest in every field—and so did Soren.

He picked up a book at random, gingerly pushing back its binding. It was an ancient scroll that had been folded onto itself repeatedly and the ends glued into a leather-over-wood front and back cover. Soren wondered if Astrid’s ancestors had done this themselves, to preserve the text. He wondered if many of the books in this room were bound in the same style. After all, there was no section displaying the honeycomb of scrolls Soren usually encountered in libraries.

The text told the story of one of Begnion’s founding heroes, more legend than history now. It grabbed Soren’s interest, and he was pulled out of the library entirely, his musings about its contents and origins now forgotten.

Hours (Soren had no idea how many) slipped by. He entirely forgot where he was and only came back to reality when the door creaked open and Astrid’s polite voice called in: “The others are waiting in the front hall, if you’re ready to go.”

To Soren’s surprise, she wasn’t talking to him. Her voice was directed at Ike, whom Soren just realized was sharing the room with him. Ike was sitting in backward a chair, his legs splayed on either side and his arms crossed leisurely over the top. He was looking in Soren’s direction, but he turned to Astrid as he stood up. “I’ll help Soren put his books away, and we’ll be right there.”

“There’s no need. The servants can-”

“It’ll only take a moment.”

“Okay then,” came Astrid’s response.

Soren couldn’t stop staring at Ike. When had he come in? Why hadn’t Soren noticed his presence until now? How long had he been here? The windows were dark, and he dimly remembered lighting candles to read by. The desk in front of him was piled with books.

“You missed dinner,” Ike said, responding to his confusion. “What are you reading anyway? You made it seem interesting.” He walked over, picked up one of the books from Soren’s desk, and skimmed the first page: “A Complete History of Marado?” he read, and then, picking up another, “Inside the Lives of Iguana?” He raised an eyebrow. “Or not.”

Soren was still stunned but found he could finally speak. “You- you were watching me?” It wasn’t what he intended to say.

Ike laughed. “I came to find you before dinner, but you were so entranced I decided to leave you alone. When I came back later, I don’t know… I stayed. I don’t usually get to see you like that.”

“Like what?” Soren said defensively, loading his arms with books to put away.

“Relaxed? Happy?” Ike offered, adding more books on top of the ones about Marado and iguanas. “Did you know you talk to yourself when you read? Hell, you even laughed once!”

“I do not,” he returned while trying to remember if that was true.

“Snorted, actually,” Ike smiled. “Which one was it…” He snatched a small book off of the top of Soren’s pile. “This one!” Thumbing open the cover, he read the title: “Dirty Jokes from a Daein Milkmaid?” The laughter that followed was so intense he actually dropped his stack of books back onto the desk, knocking a couple to the floor.

Soren flushed in embarrassment. Had he actually picked up a book like that? Turning back his mind, he had to admit, yes, he had. He decided to scold Ike instead of admitting to it. “Be careful with those!” he said, crouching to pick up the fallen books and add them to his own pile. By the time he was standing again, Ike had filled his arms once more. He was smiling. Soren scowled. “This way.”

He put the volumes back in their proper places, directing Ike and passing books back and forth. Eventually Soren broached the subject again; he was still confused. “How long was I reading?” he asked lamely.

“Four or five hours,” Ike answered. “It’s impressive actually.”

Soren just nodded.

“When I found you, I wanted to let you be. Astrid said it was fine. Honestly, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself. I was afraid all this time with the caravan was too…outdoorsy for you. You haven’t seemed happy.”

“I’m never happy,” he grumbled.

“That’s not true.”

Soren changed the subject. “How was dinner?”

“Awkward.” Ike pulled a pained face. “You’re probably lucky you missed it.”

Soren allowed a flicker of a smile to cross his lips. He was certainly hungry now, but sitting through an uncomfortable meal with Astrid’s parents was far from his idea of a good time.

They arrived in the entrance hall where everyone was assembled. Astrid waved them off, and they departed into the warm night air, heading toward the lights of the city.

“You missed a fun game of impressions, Boss,” Gatrie greeted Ike. “You learn anything good in the library?”

“I learned that reading isn’t really my thing,” Ike answered with a lighthearted shrug.

“I’d like to check it out next time,” Mist chirruped. “Astrid’s house is amazing!”

“She’s really rich, isn’t she?” Rolf said in awe.

Shinon tousled his hair. “So rich she won’t even miss the twenty gold napkin rings in my pockets.”

Rolf stopped in his tracks. “You wouldn’t.”

Shinon threw a flippant hand in the air. “Maybe I would.”

“Turn out your pockets!” Rolf mock-demanded, racing after him.

Shinon broke into a sprint to evade the boy. Mist laughed watching them.

Soren had fallen to the back, behind Ike and Gatrie who were walking and chatting side by side. He was staring at the back of Ike’s head, watching his hair rustle soundlessly against itself in the breeze, illuminated only by starlight. He was still confused.

The next time Soren attended Astrid’s mansion, he was with Titania, Mia, Rolf, and Gatrie. They’d been in the city for four days, and their visit was halfway over. Ike was staying with the caravan (and Roark) today.

“We heard Marcia and Makalov might be here,” Titania said to Astrid, sipping a chalice of southern wine and appearing very relaxed. “But I suppose we must have missed them.”

Astrid nodded. “They did stay on contract with my father for a few months, but that was ages ago. I assumed you knew—they went to Crimea. Queen Elincia has given them citizenship and named them Royal Knights.”

Titania coughed into her beverage. “Really? I know they’d mentioned something like that during the war, but… Was it hard for them to leave Begnion?”

“No, I don’t think so. Actually…” Astrid grew even quieter than usual. “I am planning to go myself. Soon.”

This was met with surprise from everyone assembled, even Soren.

“But-but,” Gatrie seemed deeply concerned by this prospect. “Won’t that mean giving up your inheritance?”

Astrid’s mouth relaxed into a small smile, and she nodded. “It’s what I want to do.”

“Well good for you!” Mia jumped up to clap Astrid on the back.

The rest started congratulating her as well. Soren thought it was a stupid decision on Astrid’s part, but he didn’t say so. He was more interested in the fact that these veteran soldiers who’d been born and raised in Begnion were electing to immigrate to Crimea rather than join the Imperial Army. Marcia may have even earned a place among the Holy Guard if she’d stayed.

“Why?” Soren finally asked, his tone serious.

Astrid lowered her voice, but her tone was more solemn than self-conscious now. “I’ve heard additional armies are being sent north to Daein. They are requesting more and more soldiers to deal with the unrest there.” She paused, as if carefully selecting her next words.

Soren was surprised to hear things were going so poorly almost two years after Nevassa had fallen, but he didn’t say so. 

Astrid finally continued: “I helped conquer Daein once… I don’t want to have to do it again.” Her expression was sad. Her pale eyes flicked to each of their faces and then away again. “You should hear the stories…”

“Well, Queen Elincia will be lucky to have you,” Titania said, giving Astrid’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. Then she abruptly changed the subject. “How about a race? You and me.”

“Ooh! My money is on you Titania!” Mia exclaimed.

“I’ll take those odds,” Gatrie grinned. “Astrid’s my girl!”

“You’ll eat those words,” Titania glowered.

Astrid laughed, her grave expression disappearing like the wisps of a rain cloud. “Thanks for your support, Gatrie. Sure, I’ll take you on, Captain. Let’s get saddled up.”

Wine glasses were abandoned, and everyone migrated to the stables. Soren went with them, although he would have rather gone to the library.

When he returned to the city that night, Soren felt he ought to tell Ike what Astrid had said about Daein. His reaction was to be expected:

“I want to go to Daein,” he blurted as soon as Soren had finished speaking. “Will our certification apply there?”

He nodded once. “It is a territory of Begnion now, so yes.” Looking at the fire smoldering in his friend’s eyes, Soren understood why he wanted to see for himself what had become of the land he’d conquered. His empathy was boundless, but that also left him vulnerable. “Though, I do not recommend it.”

“Why not?” He seemed irritated.

“Rumors are just that. The war is over; Ashnard is dead. No matter what is happening in Daein right now, it is better off with Begnion in control, and frankly, that control will be easier without Daein nationals becoming riled up by seeing our faces.”

“We’re not that recognizable…” Ike frowned.

“Why take that risk?”

Ike didn’t answer immediately, but then he said simply: “I just have to see it.”

The sliver of sadness Soren saw breaking through his usually easy-going exterior was enough to quell any protest he might make. “Okay,” he gave in. Oddly enough, he saw a bright side to this—at least there was no way Roark could come with them to Daein.

When it was time to go, they packed up and left with the caravan, waving goodbye to Astrid and wishing her luck in Crimea. Life on the road resumed, and the mercenaries returned to their routine patrols around the wagon train, watching for thieves.

It was autumn when the six months expired, but the weather was still quite warm in central Begnion. Soren was relieved this job was over, but the rest of the mercenaries were morose. They bid the trading families tearful goodbyes.

Mist hugged each of her new friends, rocking back and forth while they cried. Boyd had mock-fights with his new pals, saying his farewell with an affectionate headlock. Shinon traded insults with his cohort, a group of people as ill-tempered as him. The others mercenaries clapped arms and shook hands. Everyone promised to write to one another.

Shinon and Gatrie received a remarkable number of love letters shoved into their hands, and a considerable number of goodbye pecks on the cheek. This was to be expected. What was less expected was that Soren spotted Oscar and Boyd each with a letter or two. Meanwhile, three young men had gotten to their knees in front of Mia to confess their love and ask her to stay and marry them. In response, Mia was shouting at them to get off their knees and to stand and fight. It was unclear why.

Soren knew Ike was palmed his fair share of secret love letters, but he was equally aware that Ike didn’t care about these. What disturbed Soren was that Roark pulled Ike away during the farewell commotion, presumably to say his own private goodbye. As the representative of their contract holder, this should not have been suspicious. They could very well be discussing business.

But Soren couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He felt sicker and sicker as the seconds ticked by and neither Roark nor Ike reappeared. He could see their shoes in the gap under the wagon behind which they’d sought privacy. He tried to read the shifting of their weight, and his imagination ran away with him.

Soren hated how petty he was being. He didn’t decide who Ike’s friends were; he didn’t decide who Ike’s lovers were. It wasn’t his place; it wasn’t his problem.

Waiting for the mercenaries to reassemble, for the heartfelt farewells to finally conclude, Soren recalled the other people he’d irrationally disliked with this same spiteful barb in his heart. Nasir was the first person to come to mind. Then again, he’d been a traitor. Soren had been right to distrust the suave dragon and the way he’d wormed his way into Ike’s good graces. Or had he? Nasir had saved Ike from the Black Knight, giving his life to tear down Castle Nados. Soren still couldn’t say for certain whether he’d done it only to save Ena or if he’d cared for Ike after all.

He tried to shake away these thoughts. Speculating about it now was pointless. Once his mind was clear, it was Elincia who pranced into it: the second person for whom Soren had burned with jealousy. _Jealousy…_ It wasn’t the first time he’d thought the word or acknowledged the ugly feeling. He wasn’t immune to envy; he’d never claimed to be so high-minded.

But right now, for the first time, while watching Ike and Roark’s feet under the distant wagon, he wondered why he would feel jealous of these people. He still had Ike’s devotion as a friend, his ear as a tactician, his trust as a mercenary. What more could he want?

The answer came when Roark’s boot stepped forward and just touch Ike’s toe: love. Soren wanted Ike’s love. The realization was like a fire in his blood, causing his cheeks and neck to burn even hotter under the autumn sun. His vision blurred as his mind scrambled to make sense of this, to rationalize it away. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter; it didn’t change anything. He tried to isolate the ramifications, to head them off before they could get away:

If Soren loved Ike, did that mean he was attracted to men? He supposed it could be true, but he couldn’t think of anyone in his entire life for whom he’d felt this way.

Did that make him perverse? Same-sex relationships were taboo throughout most of Tellius, but nobles like Astrid had been getting away with it for centuries, since money could always buy blind eyes. Things were a little different in laguz nations, where Soren’s research had revealed it was strictly forbidden, especially among the elite. The exception was Gallia, where marriages between people of the same gender was legal, albeit disapproved of. Caineghis and Giffca were a testament to that.

But more important was Ike. If he loved Roark, then no matter the laws of beorc or laguz, it couldn’t be bad. Nothing Ike did could ever be deplorable. But at least he and Roark were the same species. Soren was not. Did loving Ike make him even more of a monster?

As much as the thought tortured him, he had to admit it was a moot point. No taboo of the heart could compete with Soren’s very existence. His mixed blood was a crime. His poorly developed body was an abomination. According to beorc and laguz alike, his every breath was an offence against the Goddess.

Neither Ike nor Roark had emerged from behind the wagon. Soren tried to read their feet but couldn’t tell if they were talking, kissing, or worse. He felt like his heart was breaking, and this spawned the most disturbing question of all: if Soren loved Ike, did that mean he was capable of love after all?

He’d never understood it until now, and he still didn’t feel like he did. ‘Love’ was a ridiculous, flimsy emotion that caused otherwise rational people to make foolish decisions. It made otherwise strong people suddenly weak. It robbed them of their logic; it confused their priorities. Love was fickle, drudging up unnecessary drama. All his life Soren had thought he’d been safe from the mysterious affliction.

But Ike had always been there, burrowing deep into his heart, and he’d never tried to put up more than a perfunctory defense. Shouldn’t he have realized what was happening whenever Ike pulled secrets out of his mouth without even trying? Shouldn’t he have realized the truth when Ike had shone like a beacon to Soren’s Branded sense or when being apart from him had been like missing a part of himself? It was all so obvious—Soren had never been rational or invulnerable, not when it came to Ike.

He might have laughed at his blindness if it didn’t hurt so much.

“Hey, Soren? You don’t look so good…” Mist’s voice finally brought him back to reality. He tried to figure out how much time had passed: a few seconds or a few minutes? Ike and Roark finally came around the wagons. The rest of the mercenaries were regrouping. “I mean, you’re sweating like Rhys!” She reached out a hand to check his temperature, but Soren couldn’t stand for anyone to touch him right now, especially not his forehead where his dreadful Brand shone for all to see.

He brushed her hand aside and wiped his face and neck with his opposite sleeve. He was disgusted to find that she was right—he was sweating like a pig. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just hot.”

Mist accepted this excuse. “Well, we should be leaving soon. As long as you’re okay to travel-”

“I’ll be fine,” he repeated in annoyance.

Just then, Ike made it back to the rest of the mercenaries. Roark was standing with the other merchants seeing them off. Soren tried to read their faces, but both were rigid masks. Their lips may have been a little red (or was he imagining things?); there was no other indication or mark of their tryst. Roark’s mouth was drawn thin, and he seemed sad behind the façade. Ike was completely unreadable, which surprised Soren because he’d never been particularly good at subterfuge.

Oda stepped to the head of the merchants. “Could we convince you to stay on?” she asked Ike, handing him the last of the payments.

Ike shook his head. “We’ve got plans. But we wish you safety.” He passed the billfold to Soren.

Roark waved his hand carelessly. “We’ve managed before. And you’ve taught many of us to defend ourselves. That won’t soon be forgotten.” The headwoman nodded in agreement. Soren searched for some double meaning in Roark’s words, any subtle emphasis or hidden spite in his voice or face. But he found none. A moment later, the mercenaries made their final waves and started walking away.

Soren focused on putting one foot in front of the other, and he tried not to look at or think about Ike. Now that they were leaving Roark behind, Soren wished he’d never pursued the threads of his jealousy. Now he had another secret to keep, and it weighed heavy in his chest. Now there was another thing Soren wanted that he would never have. Now, all of a sudden, just being a member of the Greil Mercenaries was going to be harder.


	24. CHAPTER 55: ZUNANMA

The Greil Mercenaries had decided long ago that they would cross through the Grann Desert on their way north, and in doing so, visit the laguz living there. Soren remembered this basin of sand all too well. The last time he’d been here, they’d been sent by Sanaki and they’d been armed to the teeth. Last time, they’d fought (and in many cases killed) the ex-slaves who lived here. But now they came as friends, bearing exotic foods and other gifts they’d bought from the merchants. They wore smiles and pushed forward with eager steps.

Red pennants sagged flat against their poles in the sky, marking a road where the shifting sands would never let one be laid. These towers were made of sturdy wood and stone, and every sixth post had a horizontal pole sticking off of the top: a landing strip for bird laguz. They’d seen such contraptions in Phoenicis as well.

The mercenaries followed the flagged path until familiar ruins emerged in the haze. But these hardly deserved the name ‘ruin’ anymore, having been dug out and built up since last they were here. Scaffolding wrapped around the old stone buildings like exoskeletons, and it was clear most had already seen serious repair. Brand new buildings had been erected as well, with paths paved between them and colored awnings stretched above. Hundreds of laguz and beorc workers crawled over the scaffolding and scurried along the roads.

“Incredible,” Ike said, “But how can they even do this? How can they build a city in the desert?”

Whether or not it was a rhetorical question, Soren decided to answer. He pointed to the raised, rocky ground on either side of the settlement. “Those hills offer protection from sandstorms,” he explained. “And the ruins delve deep underground—stone tunnels where they can access fresh water and find respite in the shade.” He paused to assess the scene again. “Beorc built this place thousands of years ago, but it was abandoned. The laguz just found it.”

“Well laguz and beorc are working together to build it now,” Ike observed contentedly.

“Look closer. The laguz are doing the heavy lifting. The beorc just bring the supplies and oversee the work. This is no different than the slave labor forced on these same laguz not long ago.”

Ike frowned. “It _is_ different. They are choosing to do the work, and they’re building homes for themselves, not for someone else.”

Soren just shrugged. “Until beorc decide once again that they want the city in the sands.”

Ike growled in frustration. “That is not going to happen. You’re too negative.”

Soren sighed. Ike might be right, but he considered it his prerogative to think of the worst possible scenario. That was what made him a capable tactician.

The company now arrived in front of the main building—the place where Mia had struck down Muarim and where Tormod had stood angrily between the mercenaries and his adopted father. Soren saw the ghosts of battle and wondered if the others saw them too, because they seemed suddenly subdued.

“Tormod!” Ike called, making every nearby worker jump in surprise. “Muarim!” A couple flicks of his fingers ordered Titania and Oscar to wait with the laden horses. “Tormod! Muarim!” he continued to call as he pushed open the large wooden doors. Inside, his voice echoed through the cavernous stone halls: “Tormoood! Muuuaaarim!”

The last time they’d been here, this place had been crumbling in on itself, the light dim, the air close. It had been filled with nearly a hundred injured laguz, and it had smelled of blood, sweat, human offal, and fear. But now the air was clear, and the space well-lit with smokeless lanterns. The walls and ceiling had been completely repaired. The passage sloped underground, and doors smelling of freshly cut wood led into additional passages. The trickle of water echoed in the deep.

“Tormoood! Muuuaaarim!” Ike called again, this time cupping his mouth to amplify the sound and directing it down the length of the main tunnel.

“Would you please stop shouting!” One of the doors flew open, and a wiry cat laguz with frizzy, gray-streaked hair practically fell into the entrance chamber. His skin was lined with the scars of battle and bondage, but there was a clumsy liveliness in his step. “We are in a meeting!”

“Hi,” Ike said brightly. “Er, sorry.”

Ike’s smile seemed to win him over, and he reopened the door that had slammed shut behind him. “Well, come in then.”

The mercenaries filed into a large meeting room with a vaulted glass ceiling. Red and gold cloth hung in hammock-like billows beneath the glass, allowing only occasional streams of light to cascade into the room and across the large wooden table at its center.

Muarim and Tormod sat at the far end—or rather, Muarim sat. He was slouched forward as if deep in thought, but his face and ears perked up at the sight of the mercenaries. Tormod, on the other hand, was standing, the chair behind him abandoned. He’d never been one to sit still.

A young raven laguz was seated at Tormod’s right. Next to her was a green-haired tiger laguz, next to her a blue-haired cat laguz, next to him a red-haired laguz with no distinguishing wings or tail. Soren had to assume he was a dragon, but this was surprising. Soren would certainly have remembered seeing a dragon if there’d been one here last time.

On the other side of the table sat four beorc: a middle-aged woman, an elderly man, a young man, and a young woman. They were all well-dressed but not as eccentrically as the people of Sienne, so Soren supposed they must be nobles of middling means who were investing in the desert city.

On the table itself was a large, detailed map of Daein, of all things. Various overlapping papers were laid out and held open by stone weights, but their curling edges made them impossible to read. Soren crept closer. He’d expected to see a map of the city and plans for construction. He wondered what their interest was in Daein.

The elderly cat laguz stood by an empty chair opposite Muarim, but he did not sit. He seemed hesitant, as if instinct told him the meeting was all but adjourned. Meanwhile, Tormod’s face lit up at the sight of Greil Mercenaries. “General Ike!” He saluted proudly. “What are you doing here?”

Ike laughed. “Paying a visit is all. If you’ll have us?”

“Of course!” Tormod was positively skipping as he made his way around the table. “Everyone,” he announced, “This is General Ike and the Greil Mercenaries. We fought together in the war, and General Ike was the one who led us to victory. He slayed King Ashnard himself!” The laguz and beorc all bowed their heads politely. “And he led the assault on Gritnea Tower too. He might be able to help us!”

Ike was clearly confused; the mission to rescue Leanne had been one of the war’s more minor battles. But Soren was beginning to understand.

“I’ll help if I can,” Ike said uncertainly. “What’s the problem?”

Muarim stood now. “It is a long story. Shall we break for lunch?” This last part he addressed to the table.

“I don’t see how any more work is going to get done with all these interruptions,” the old beorc man grumbled.

“It is agreed then,” said one of the beorc women, placing a consoling hand on his shoulder. “Shall we meet again in two hours’ time?”

Everyone nodded, and the room erupted in the sounds of chair legs grating against the stone floor and rustling papers as scrolls were rebound. Tormod gestured that the mercenaries should head out the way they’d come.

“Lunch? Or a tour of the city?” he offered cheerily.

“I’d take both if we have the time,” Ike answered.

Tormod saluted again, apparently ready to accept the challenge.

They met Titania and Oscar outside, and Muarim joined them shortly. “It is good to see you again, General,” he purred.

Tormod and Muarim then led the mercenaries to a freshly-constructed stable where ten horses and a handful of mules and donkeys were already boarded. The stable was built in a circle around a large well surrounded by a circular basin full of fresh water. Titania’s stallion, Oscar’s mare, and the company’s packhorse immediately bent their necks to drink. Two beorc stable hands emerged from the shade of an awning, straw-covered and dusty with sand. They helped the mercenaries unload the horses and saw the beasts stabled.

The mercenaries then carried their possessions to a closely-laid community of small, round buildings. The clay houses were tiny: a single circular room with space enough for one person to live. They didn’t even have doors; only brightly-patterned rugs hung in the thresholds. “A lot of the beorc workers live here when they come on contract,” Tormod explained, “The laguz live farther in, in the stone buildings. And the nobles stay in the underground suites—the few we’ve restored so far. There are lots of empty spaces here, though. You can each have your own if you want.” 

The last time Soren had had a room of his own was back at their old fort in Crimea, and he looked forward to the privacy. Each of the mercenaries chose their own hut and stowed their supplies. Within the round walls was a straw mattress raised off the ground by a thin bedframe, a chest with a lock and key, a small table, and a chair. All the furniture was newly made but rough-hewn. Soren found he liked it—perfectly serviceable, nothing fancy.

Once the mercenaries emerged from their eleven consecutive domes, Tormod and Muarim led them back to the ruins’ main building. This time, instead of heading into the meeting room, Tormod led them to a spiral staircase and pranced all the way to the top. As it was the tallest ruin in the city, this was a considerable distance. Soren’s calves were aching when they reached top. From here a door opened onto a newly-restored balcony, and he could tell it was newly-restored because some of the wooden scaffolding was still in place and an area in the back was still roped off for safety.

Ike (his dislike of heights evident) pressed himself to the wall and tried to look appreciative of the view. Soren and the others, however, braved the edge to take in the full vista. The city of ruins unfolded below them, churning with activity. The awnings looked like a river of color branching through the city, and from here, the tiny clay houses on the outskirts looked more like mole hills. Beyond them the desert stretching blindingly. Soren squinted to see the red flags leading back to civilization. They were hardly more than dots.

After allowing the mercenaries a few moments of appreciation, Tormod stepped fearlessly to the edge and flung his arms wide. “Welcome to Zunanma!”

Titania, Mist, and Rolf offered an awkward applause.

“Amazing isn’t it? This city has been rebuilt at least three times in the history of Begnion—even before the history of Begnion!” he amended. “The ruins underground go on _forever_. It could be the oldest city in all of Tellius! People just keep building a new city on top of the old one! Isn’t that cool?”

“Very cool.” Shinon rolled his eyes

“Neato!” Mia agreed, much more genuinely.

“It is a true marvel,” agreed Titania.

“Can we get the full story a bit closer to the ground?” asked Ike.

Muarim chuckled. “I did not think the great general feared a thing.”

Ike shot him an affronted look. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

Everyone laughed, but Tormod conceded and led them back downstairs. They didn’t have much time left until he and Muarim had to return to their meeting, so the pair set the mercenaries up in the workers’ mess hall and promised to come back later. The mercenaries were left to their own devices, but as hungry and thirsty as they were after this morning’s trek, they were easily contented by the kitchen’s offerings.

“Muarim and I split our time pretty evenly between Sienne and Zunanma,” Tormod explained that evening. Everyone was lounging around a stone patio furnished with fountains, potted plants, and climbing vines. A river of stars lit up the sky, unmarred by clouds. “We have to fight hard for everything we’ve got here. Most of the senators hate us, but Sanaki is on our side, even if she can’t always seem like she is,” he continued to chatter away. “We’re citizens now though, so we have rights. And the theocracy’s been cracking down on illegal slaveholding. There’ve been a lot of raids. A bunch of nobles were killing and dumping their slaves before they could get caught with them. But that’s mostly passed now. We got a lot of new laguz coming to us in the first year, but not many anymore.”

“Did some of the laguz come from Daein?” Soren asked, recalling the map. 

“Well, yeah actually,” Tormod answered, sounding uncharacteristically somber. “They were being held for experiments. Some we couldn’t save… They were poisoned and tortured and made to go insane so they could be used as weapons. You all remember, we sure faced enough of them in battle.”

“That’s why you asked about Gritnea Tower…” Ike asked.

“Yeah,” Tormod sighed.

Muarim was stretched out in his shifted form, eyes closed and paws crossed, between some ferns. In the flickering firelight, it was hard to distinguish his mossy coat from the tendrils of leaves. Lifting his eyelids, he said, “We are trying to track down the monster responsible. We believe he escaped the battle at Gritnea, and we believe he returned to Daein unscathed.”

“He’s still out there,” Tormod growled, fists clenched.

“I thought Begnion rounded up all the Daein military personnel?” Titania asked.

“But he wasn’t military,” Tormod answered sharply. “He’s a scholar. He’s out there completely free to continue his experiments!”

In the moment of silence that followed, Soren recalled the basement at Gritnea Tower. There were some days he still couldn’t get the stink of that place out of his head. He understood their desire for justice.

“The theocracy is no help at all. They don’t care that this monster is out there. They don’t care about the experiments. They don’t care about laguz!” Tormod scuffed the floor with his sandal and plunged his hands into his pockets.

“So,” Titania said in a calming tone, “these laguz from Daein—have you discovered a way to cure their madness?”

Tormod shook his head. “The mad ones don’t come to us. They die from their condition, or starvation, or they’re killed by Begnion soldiers when they’re discovered.”

“Sometimes the sane ones are killed too,” Muarim added from his shadowy corner.

“Yeah…”

“I’m so sorry,” Ike said quietly. “How can we help?”

“Do any of you remember anything from Gritnea Tower?” Tormod asked hopefully. “Something the soldiers might have said? Documents about their experiments? Do you remember seeing a man sneaking away?”

Everyone shook their heads.

“If I saw someone sneaking off, I would’ve captured him or shot him right there!” Rolf assured.

“All I remember from that day was the horror of that tower,” Titania muttered gravely.

“Have you tried contacting Queen Elincia?” Rhys offered. “I am sure she sent men to clear out the tower after the war ended.”

“Oh yeah, of course we did. Jill carried a message for us—she’s doing a delivery service now, if you didn’t know.” (They nodded that they did.) “But Elincia said it was all already gone. Everything was cleared out or burned up…” Tormod hesitated a second, glancing quickly at Ike. “The Begnion soldiers were still there. The prisoners in the cages. But they’d all been burned to a crisp.”

Ike frowned but said nothing.

“Any ideas who did it?” Oscar asked.

Tormod shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? It’s this guy covering his tracks.”

“What about King Tibarn or Naesala? Perhaps Princess Leanne remembers something? Have you tried to contact them?” Titania suggested.

Tormod nodded. “We’re waiting to hear back.”

“I hope they turn up something,” Ike said finally. “Is there anything we can do in the meantime? We’ve been planning to head up to Daein. Any places we should check out?”

Muarim yawned and pulled himself onto all fours. He plodded over to the fire and transformed back into his human shape. This cut off whatever Tormod was going to say. “We will search ourselves, if the need arises,” he said firmly. “We cannot ask you to investigate for us, and we do not have the funds to hire you. But, as your friends, we do ask that you keep your eyes and ears out. If you notice anything, please send a letter.”

Tormod swallowed and nodded. “And if you meet any laguz along the way,” he said, “tell them where they can find us.”

“Of course,” Ike replied.

“Now, I am sure you are tired. Should we guide you back to your lodgings?” Muarim offered.

“We can find the way,” Ike answered with a shake of his head. “Thanks.”

“Hey, tomorrow I should show you the underground pools,” Tormod proposed, his usual bubbly excitement returning to his voice. “We’ve restored seven already!”

On the fourth night, the mercenaries returned from the underground hot springs among a herd of sore, tired workers. This was a nightly ritual for most people in the city, laguz and beorc alike, and the Greil Mercenaries had been quick to join.

Soren may have disliked the proximity of so many half-naked strangers in an enclosed space—the eyes of whom stared at his scars as often as his Brand, but the social discomfort was far outweighed by the physical comfort. Soren relished the chance to remove the dust and dirt that accumulated on his skin each day, not to mention the opportunity to languish in a warm pool with Ike. He never left early like he had at Astrid’s.

But now he was eager to return to his own bed in his own little hut. Tiredness slowed his steps and sleepy moisture accumulated in the outer corners of his eyes.

But then he felt a prick in the back of his mind, like a burr catching and refusing to let go. Something wasn’t right. He fended off his sleepiness and glanced around, feeling he was being watched. Honing in on the source, he stopped in his tracks. Someone was indeed watching him—someone in a brown cloak nearly invisible against the sand beyond the clay village. And this person was Branded.

“Soren?” Ike asked, glancing back.

“Coming.” He started walking again and resisted the urge to glance back at the interloper. He supposed he shouldn’t be completely surprised; he knew Stefan and his people lived in the Grann too. But that didn’t explain why this one had appeared so close to the city.

Once back in his hut, he grabbed his wind tome and its harness. Then, as soon as all the workers and mercenaries had returned to their domes, he made a beeline out of town. The Branded was in the same spot, as if waiting for him. Soren approached cautiously, even if there was no sneaking up on them, and slowed to a stop several yards away. “Who are you?” he asked.

The person pushed down their hood to expose spiky purple hair, a woman’s tan face, and intense eyes. She closed the distance between them, but Soren didn’t retreat. He noticed a matching pair of curved blades crisscrossed on her back. The handles gleamed on either side of her neck, and the tips were visible under each elbow. “You must be Soren?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She extended her hand, where a folded letter was clamped between her fingertips.

“What is that?” He didn’t reach for it.

“A girl of our kind came to us months ago. But she did not stay. Like you, she felt she still owed something to the world of beorc and laguz…or perhaps that it owed her something. Her name was Koure.”

Soren snatched the letter out of her hand as quickly as he could and wedged it into his tome’s holster. He wouldn’t read it here, as much as he wanted to. “How could she have known to leave me a letter with you?”

“Stefan said you would come to us one day. The letter was just in case.”

Soren scowled. “I’ve not ‘come to you.’ My company is just passing through.”

“Of course. But I came to give you the letter anyway. Aren’t I kind?”

Soren said nothing.

She sighed. “My name is Andarra, by the way. In answer to your first question.”

“How many of you are there?”

Andarra shrugged. “In the desert? I’ve never counted. Less than two hundred, I think. Perhaps more. We live as nomads, travelling in small groups to avoid notice.”

“Why don’t you live in Zunanma with the freed slaves?” Soren asked, although he suspected he already knew the answer.

Andarra released an exasperated breath. “The beorc may not know what we are, but the laguz certainly do. ‘Parentless,’ they call us. They ignore us, as they always have. But surely they would grow less tolerant if we tried to cozy in among them.”

“I expected as much,” Soren said, oddly satisfied that both laguz and beorc were just as bigoted as they’d always been, even if they were restraining themselves enough to work together.

“Besides, that city should belong to us by right,” Andarra added. “If we were to take it back, we wouldn’t share it with people who despise us.”

Soren could tell she was baiting him. She wanted him to ask why the city belonged her people. He gave in: “Why?”

In answer, she continued her tirade: “’Zunanma’? That is what they’re calling it? Fools!” Andarra glared at the city rising over Soren’s head.

“That is what I was told.”

“That is _our_ name. It is the name of the first people: neither laguz nor beorc. If anyone has a right to that city, it is us.”

“Well, I don’t see the Branded digging it out of the sand,” Soren said pointedly.

Andarra glared at him. But then she gave this up and continued to glare at the city instead. “Never let them convince you that you’re corrupted. Our kind is purer than either beorc or laguz. We are Ashunera’s chosen.”

‘Ashunera’ was an archaic name for Ashera. Soren hadn’t heard it in years. In fact, he had never actually heard it at all, merely read it occasionally in books. “Well, it doesn’t look like Ashera is digging the city out for you either,” he said.

“It’s not about the damned city!” Andarra burst. “If only you would join us, you could learn our ways, our history, our _destiny_.”

Soren forced a laugh. “Do you even hear yourself? I think you’ve spent too long in the hot sun.”

Andarra shook her head, but taking a deep breath, she seemed to calm herself.

“How long _have_ you been here?” Soren dared ask.

“I left the world of laguz and beorc over forty years past,” she answered.

Soren wasn’t surprised by her incongruous age and appearance; she was Branded, after all. But he could hardly imagine spending so many years isolated in this desert. No wonder she seemed insane. “Doesn’t it bother you?” he eventually asked, “That you’re giving them exactly what they want? They drove you away. You live on scraps, surviving in the middle of nowhere. No one even knows you’re here. You don’t even exist.”

Andarra narrowed her eyes. “And do you ‘exist’? Do your friends even know what you are?”

Soren scowled. “The world is out there,” he said, with a sharp gesture at the horizon. “At least I am a part of-”

“And why does it deserve you?” she cut him off.

Soren couldn’t think of a response to that, so he just snorted insultingly. In truth, he was stunned. No one had ever said anything like that to him before, let alone a standoffish stranger. 

Her expression softened. “We are cautious around new people, even our own kind. But do not make the mistake of thinking I dislike you. I am your friend. You have friends here. Friends who would stand between you and a blade or claw at your throat. We want only that you realize the truth and join us in the desert…before the world ‘out there’ breaks you with its cruelty.”

Soren released his scowl but tried to keep his face impassive. “I do not need your baseless friendship.”

She sighed. “Well, Stefan did say you were adamant.”

“And Koure…you failed to convert her too?”

Andarra shifted her stance. “Of course we did. We wanted her to stay, but…she has a particular love for people—all people. She trusts others without cause and sees goodness in them because she wants to. She is looking for answers, thinking the outside world with provide them. She is…innocent. When the time comes, the world of beorc and laguz will break her, and she will fall hard.”

Soren recalled how Koure had latched onto him at Temple Asic, seeing something in him worth befriending when there’d been nothing there. He remembered her declaring her decision not to kill, her refusal to fight in the war. Andarra was right; she was innocent.

“Perhaps you and I will meet again, Soren. We will be here,” Andarra said, extending her hand.

Soren accepted it, shook it once, then dropped it. Strangers usually shied away from having to touch him, but among other Branded, he would be considered normal. It was an appealing idea. But Andarra’s promise that they would always be here was exactly why Soren would never seek them out. Living his long life removed from the world, waiting away the years in the desert, making himself small and invisible—he couldn’t imagine a worse fate. Turning back to the rows of clay domes, Soren considered the fact that he would always be an outsider, but at least he would be a part of the world.

Once he reached his own hut, he lit a candle and slit open the letter:

_Soren, the Branded here said they know you, so I am leaving this letter in hopes that it finds you well. I am writing you in the summer of the year 645 in the Grann Desert of Begnion. I suppose I just want to tell you that I am safe. I stayed in Crimea long enough after the battle to hear that you survived and were okay. Then I went to Daein. The Begnion occupation is pretty bad. I saw horrible things done to the people I traveled with. But I had Crimean papers: tax waivers from Queen Elincia for all of the workers who helped with the war effort. They probably saved my life. But like I said, I’m safe now. My search for my parents met a dead end, with so many records lost in the war, but I am going to keep searching. Daein isn’t safe now, so I will stay in Begnion until I can return. I hope I will see you again someday. Yours, Koure_

Soren was glad to hear she was well and a bit relieved she hadn’t made her way to Palmeni Temple (as of last year, at least). Recalling Andarra’s assessment of Koure, Soren wondered how finding out the truth might hurt her. Then again, if someone could tell Soren the truth of his parentage, wouldn’t he want to know no matter how terrible the story? Koure wasn’t weak, even if she was hopeful. He knew she could handle it. And yet Soren wanted her to remain hopeful, even if that meant keeping a secret from her. Shaking his head, Soren reminded himself that these were pointless musings. There was no way to send a return letter, and even if he could, he didn’t know for certain that she was Lillia’s child.

The mercenaries were planning to spend two weeks in Zunanma. As the days rolled by, Ike insisted on inserting himself into Tormod and Muarim’s work. That meant crashing meetings, helping carry wooden beams, hoisting buckets of supplies, and running any errand he could convince someone to give him. Perhaps urban planning and construction truly fascinated Ike, but Soren suspected there was something else going on.

Since he wasn’t being paid for the work, Soren advised he stop. When it became clear that that Tormod and Muarim were uncomfortable with his help and that Ike often made things more complicated with his involvement, Soren strongly advised he stop. Naturally, Ike ignored him.

“Help me hide these!” he said one day, pushing a mess of papers into Soren’s arms.

He recognized them in an instant. “You stole their diagrams?”

“Borrowed,” Ike corrected.

These were the master plans for the organization of the city’s districts. Soren knew Tormod had been trying to keep them away from Ike’s prying eyes for the past forty-eight hours. But he was nothing if not tenacious.

He pushed Soren and the diagrams out of the corridor and into an empty meeting room. Sandals slapped and paws pounded past the door, followed by a beastly snarl of frustration.

“They’ll sniff you out in a moment,” Soren whispered.

But Ike had already taken the largest of the maps and laid it out on the table at the center of the room. Soren watched his expression grow angrier as his eyes flew over it. Wondering what could be frustrating him like this, he stepped up to examine the map himself. 

He didn’t have time, however, because the door burst open and Tormod, Muarim, and the red-furred tiger laguz they’d come to know as Razan poured into the room. Razan was in her shifted form, but Muarim (and Tormod of course) were bipedal.

“I knew it!” Ike exclaimed before any of them could release an angry shout. “You’re building laguz homes and businesses on one side of the city and beorc on the other!”

Soren raised an eyebrow at Ike. _So that’s what’s been upsetting him_ , he thought but said nothing. He wanted to stay out of it. 

Tormod looked like he’d just been scolded by a parent. “You don’t understand…”

“It is the only way,” Muarim cut in.

Razan reverted her form. “Why do you care, mercenary?”

Ike bristled. “What’s the point of building a city where beorc and laguz can live in peace if you’re just going to keep them separate from the start?”

“We admire your idealism, Ike,” Muarim rumbled, “But we must act practically. Most of these laguz are former slaves. Many fear and distrust the beorc just as the beorc fear and distrust them.”

“And how does this help?” Ike gestured at the map behind him.

“It allows all residents of this city to sleep more comfortably at night,” Razan answered. “Everyone here knows what they’re building and are content with it.”

Ike growled under his breath.

Soren was content to stand to the side and be ignored, so he emptied his arms of the other diagrams Ike had stolen, letting them spill onto the table. He wanted no part of this.

“Why is the only school on the beorc side?” Ike turned and jammed an accusing finger on a square sketched into the east side of the city.

Muarim came closer and began collecting the scrolls and scraps of paper. “For a long while, there will only be beorc children in Zunanma. We laguz live far longer than beorc and so bear offspring far more rarely.”

“Really?” Ike looked like that thought had never occurred to him.

Muarim tugged at the corner of the full city map, and Ike reluctantly lifted his hand. “The differences between beorc and laguz cannot be ignored,” Muarim said gently. “They pose logistical problems.”

Razan huffed under her breath.

Tormod was uncharacteristically subdued, as if Ike’s rage still stung him.

“The differences aren’t that big,” Ike muttered, but no one replied. 

“Enjoy your stay in Zunanma,” Muarim finished. “Do not trouble yourself with these matters.”

Ike looked frustrated, but his passion was ebbing. Razan left the room, and Muarim was close behind her. Tormod, however, was lingering. “Are we still on for tonight?” he asked, referring to the drunken merry-making shared between the mercenaries and Tormod’s young friends (beorc and laguz) almost every night.

With visible effort, Ike cocked his head and smiled (although it looked more like a wince). “Of course we are.”

Clearly relieved, Tormod nodded and joined Muarim and Razan in the hall. 

Ike sighed and turned to Soren as if to say something, but whatever it was died on his lips. An idea seemed to strike him, and he turned back to Tormod and Muarim. “Wait! What if a beorc and a laguz resident get married, which district would they live in?”

The outrageous question was enough to make Soren’s jaw drop and snap shut again. Tormod, Muarim, and Razan all looked equally stunned. “ _Disgusting_ ,” she spat.

Tormod and Muarim looked more uncomfortable than disgusted. “I don’t even think that’s legal in Begnion…or anywhere,” Tormod offered, but his voice sounded like he’d never actually considered the possibility and now wasn’t quite sure what he thought.

“It isn’t done,” Muarim said with grim finality. “It is disastrous for beorc and laguz to mate.”

“Disastrous?” Ike repeated incredulously.

Soren could feel the sweat pooling under his armpits and in his palms. He silently cursed Ike while simultaneously thanking him for not looking at him and praying he would continue to ignore him. He was similarly grateful that the tigers’ eyes didn’t stray toward him. He never quite knew how much any individual laguz could sense about him.

“It does not matter,” Muarim explained, shaking his head. “Beorc relationships—the beorc idea of love—is different than the love of laguz. It is impossible for them to want to marry. Beorc and laguz can be strong allies and friends—as we are friends—but that is all.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Razan agreed.

“Is that what you believe too?” Ike turned to Tormod.

The young mage didn’t seem certain, but he nodded anyway. “Even though I’m beorc, I’ve grown up among laguz as long as I can remember. That’s what I have always been taught.”

Ike sighed in dissatisfaction. “Fine.”

Tormod, Muarim, and Razan left. Ike stared at the floor as if deep in thought. Soren wondered if he’d actually forgotten he was there. He stepped toward the door, but Ike stopped him.

“What do you think all of this?”

“I don’t care about Zunanma,” he answered honestly. “But I do care that you brought me into it. Did you think I wanted to hear that?” He couldn’t keep the anger from his voice.

Ike looked apologetic. “They didn’t necessarily say anything bad about the Branded…”

Soren’s skin prickled at the word. “And what exactly do you think Muarim was referring to when he said ‘disastrous’?” Ike didn’t answer. He seemed like a deflated version of himself, which Soren hated to see. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.” He made to leave again.

“Do you think they’re right? Do you think laguz and beorc are so different that they can never love one another?”

Soren’s answer came quick and cold: “Love doesn’t exist.” Leaving it at that, he exited the room before Ike could stop him again. His answer may have been a lie, but getting into a philosophical discussion about love was not something he wanted to do, especially with Ike. He had the power to make Soren spill secrets without meaning to.

After the confrontation over the diagrams, Ike stopped trying to involve himself in matters of city planning. He joined the rest of mercenaries for hours of relaxation, care-free games, and plenty of celebratory drinking at night. Soren watched his comrades always making toasts to one thing or another, but he still didn’t quite understand what they were celebrating.

During the day, many of the mercenaries explored the deeper ruins (with a laguz guide of course). Soren enjoyed these excursions, which led farther underground than he’d ever been, and being able to see the relics the beorc archeologists unearthed, which sometimes bore writing in a dialect of the ancient language no one could read.

The mercenaries also enjoyed themselves by sampling the local cuisine. This could mean a traditional Begnion dish made from plants and animals native to the desert, or a dish from Gallia, Phoenicis, or Kilvas (Goldoans, it seemed, didn’t cook). In these cases, the recipe came to Begnion in the mind of a kidnapped laguz, where it was then adapted to available ingredients.

Each night, of course, the Greil Mercenaries visited the subterranean hot springs, often before engaging in the evening’s festivities. These were a simple and pleasant two weeks, and by the end, a significant portion of each mercenary’s earnings from the past six months had disappeared. (Except for Soren, of course, who deposited the majority of his pay in his Begnion account and Rhys who sent his earnings back to his ailing parents in Crimea.)

Their last night in Zunanma was a special occasion. Tormod (who apparently wanted to please Ike) served them the closest thing to a feast he could muster in the grandest hall that had yet been restored. Dozens of laguz and beorc joined them, although they mostly kept to opposite sides of the room. There was music and dancing, and sometimes raucous singing. Imported Daein mead and local Begnion wine poured from open taps. There was also a suspiciously sharp-smelling liquor distilled from a local cactus making its rounds through the room.

Never one to jeopardize his reason, Soren kept his tongue dry, and there were a few others keeping sober with him. Muarim kept an eye on Tormod, forbidding him to drink anything, and Oscar watched Rolf, who managed to steal a few sips anyway. Ike, meanwhile, left Mist to watch over herself. A respectable and reasonable young woman, she knew better than to indulge in anything she didn’t understand. Rhys drank a cup of wine and immediately fell into a stupor, much like he had in Melior.

The others, however, threw themselves wholeheartedly into the drinking games being played at every table. Ike was one of the first to elect to try the cactus beverage, and he sought out the cask on five more occasions throughout the night.

Soren participated in some of the games at first, but they were too easy when his opponents were booze-addled and careless. No one could pay attention for more than a few minutes at a time, and it quickly grew frustrating. Despite his boredom, Soren stayed at the party if for no other reason than to keep an eye on Ike. He was drunker than he’d ever seen him, and he wondered if it was an accident or if something had driven him to this.

As the night drew on, Soren eventually left the party. Ike was dancing with Mia and Boyd. They looked like clumsy fools, not the graceful warriors Soren knew them to be. Tormod’s friends were here too, and a young beorc woman was dancing close to Ike. She kept getting between him and Mia, marking him as her own. But he was either too drunk or too oblivious to notice how her hands and body kept brushing his. Soren couldn’t stand to watch anymore. He returned to his domed hut for the last time.

Before turning in for bed, he withdrew a piece of paper, a quill, and ink. Between yawns, he penned his customary letter to Bastian about where they were headed next. Sealing it and leaving it unlabeled, he tucked it into his bag, which he’d already packed for tomorrow.

Since the hut had no protection from the elements other than a thick drape for a door, Soren had learned not to take his sandals off until he was in bed. Otherwise, his bare feet would carry an incredible amount of sand into his blankets. Shaking them off, he pulled his legs under the covers and snuggled down. He would miss this privacy when they moved on, but Soren was glad to be leaving Zunanma and the Grann Desert behind.

He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping, but it was still night when he was woken by the sound of someone entering his room. A dark form lurched inward from the threshold, the curtain door flapping closed behind them. They filled the dark space with their mass, cutting out the starlight coming through the cracks around the curtain.

Soren panicked for a moment and scrambled out of his covers, crouching on the bed with his back against the sloped wall. But then reason intervened, he awoke fully, and he determined with all his senses that the person before him was none other than a very drunk Ike.

As Soren’s eyes awoke to the darkness, he determined that Ike’s own eyes were heavy-lidded and half-closed. He was stumbling, feeling his way across the room with his hands. He was mumbling something incoherently under his breath.

Reaching the bedpost against the wall, Ike smiled and made half of the motions necessary for someone to get into a bed. However, half of the motions were neglected, and he only succeeded in driving his shin into the frame and the side of his face into the post, flopping half onto the mattress, and sliding off. Now he had one leg splayed, one leg tucked under himself as if kneeling, one arm at his side, and one arm up on the bed. His fingers curled around the blankets, dragging them a few inches. His head lolled again the mattress, and he hardly seemed to register any pain at having hit it against the rough wood. In fact, he looked at peace, as if he’d be content to fall asleep like that.

Soren could only stare. Did Ike think he was in his own hut? Or had he come here on purpose? Soren quickly shook the second thought away. _Of course it’s just a mistake,_ he told himself, _Look at the state he’s in._

Soren scrambled off the bed, which involved climbing over Ike’s leg. His bare feet hit the sandy floor, but there was nothing he could do about it—Ike was kneeling on one of his sandals and had managed to kick the other under the bed.

 _Incorrigible oaf,_ Soren thought, but what he said was, “Ike? Commander Ike? Ike!”

He blinked blearily. “Sssoren, yer awake… Good…”

“You need to go.” Soren crossed his arms.

Ike yawned and stood, teetering. “Nah…”

Soren uncrossed his arms and instinctively took a step forward, as if he could somehow catch Ike if he fell. “I gotto talkto yuh,” he said disjointedly.

“I am sure it can wait until tomorrow, when you’re sober.”

He yawned again, after which he leaned forward, caught himself on the bed, and dragged himself fully onto it this time.

“Oh no you don’t,” Soren said in frustration. “Go find your own bed.” But there wasn’t much he could do. Ike was now lying on his stomach with the blankets in a knot under his neck and chest. His cheek was at the foot of the bed, his left leg was kicked up with his foot hooked on the headboard, and his right leg was still dangling off the side. Ike managed to make it look comfortable.

Soren could hardly believe the ridiculousness of the situation and wondered idly if this was a dream. But he trusted himself and his senses, so he trusted he was awake and this was real. “Ike, get out.”

He grumbled something incomprehensible.

“What?” Soren snapped.

Ike turned his head, propping it up on an arm, so he could speak more clearly. “I gotto talkto you.”

“Okay, what is it then?”

“You’ll, _hic_ , think it’s dumb…”

“You’re probably right,” Soren agreed.

“But, yer my advisor, so, _hic_ , you gotto advise me.” His whole body had convulsed with the last hiccup.

“I advise you to return to your own hut and sleep this off,” Soren grumbled dryly. He didn’t know if Ike heard or understood him.

“It’s about- It’s about…” Ike began. He turned his face away and into the blankets, so the next word was muffled: “Roark.”

“What?” Soren snapped, more loudly than intended. He was suddenly very awake, and the situation was no longer entertaining in the least. He didn’t want to hear what Ike had to say; he wanted him gone. And yet, a small part of him was intensely curious and desperately needed to know what Ike was trying to tell him. For better or worse, he kept his mouth shut and his ears open.

“He liked me, but I didn’t… Not like that…” Ike mumbled into the blankets. He turned his face outward again but didn’t look at Soren. “He kissed me, but…” The confirmation of Soren’s fears was like an electric shock. “Tha’s not good, is it? For a, _hic_ , mercenary commander… I messed up… But still… I’m not, _hic_ , not mad at him… I’m not…” Ike said nothing more for a long time.

Soren wondered if he’d fallen asleep. “So?” he prompted, finally finding his tongue. He tried (unsuccessfully) to keep the anger and jealousy out of his voice.

Ike opened his eyes again. “Whashould I do?” he slurred, as if it were obviously what he meant. “I think I, _hic_ , hurt his feelings…”

“You came to _me_ for a question about feelings?” Soren released a hollow laugh. “You really are drunk.”

Ike didn’t say anything. His face slackened slightly.

Sighing, Soren pulled the chair away from the table and sat down. “Sleep this off, Ike,” he said with as much dignity as he could muster. “That is my advice. You must not do this again, and you mustn’t let the rest of the company see you like this. _This_ is what is unbefitting of a mercenary commander.”

Once again, he didn’t know if Ike heard or understood. His eyes drifted closed, and in a minute, he was snoring.

Soren watched him sleep (and drool) for another minute more before tearing his eyes away. Sleeping like this, Ike was completely vulnerable and relaxed—hard edges but soft surfaces. He seemed to radiate warmth, and Soren was seized by the temptation to slide in next to him without waking him, to take that sleeping body, its beauty, its scent, and its heat as his own, just for a moment, when no one, not even Ike, would notice.

But he had no right. And if Ike woke up, there would be no explaining his actions. So Soren crossed his arms on the table and lowered his head onto them. He willed his body to ignore the uncomfortable position and willed his brain to let go of its distracting thoughts.

He tried to sleep, but his mind turned to Elincia again. He wondered if Ike would rather be with her now, if she weren’t a queen. He wondered if Ike would rather be with Roark, discussing their relationship and stitching wounded feelings, rather than merely confessing his confusion to Soren in a drunken stupor. The answers were obvious: of course he would. Ike may not have returned Roark’s feelings, but he obviously still cared in some way or he wouldn’t be in this state now.

Although he tried to tell himself none of this had anything to do with him, it was enough to make Soren want to scream. Or perhaps that was the very reason he felt like screaming—because it had nothing to do with him. Roark clearly distressed Ike in a way Soren never could.

Eventually he successfully convinced himself that everything would be back to normal tomorrow. Ike and the others would be nursing hangovers while they marched into the desert, and none of them would be proud of the things they’d done the night before.

When he awoke in the morning, his arms and back were stiff and his feet were numb, but he had a blanket over his shoulders that hadn’t been there when he’d fallen asleep. Ike was gone, and Soren found himself hoping he’d left before dawn. He preferred if none of the other mercenaries knew what had happened.

Retrieving and attaching his sandals, Soren yawned and stretched. Shouldering his pack and sliding his tome into its holster, he exited his hut to check on preparations for departure. He was determined that this be just another day.

Titania informed him that Ike was still fast asleep in his own bed, which Soren was glad to hear. “Let’s leave him until the last minute,” she suggested. “According to Gatrie, he had a rough night last night.” Soren feigned ignorance and agreed.

Ike trudged out of his hut just before it was time to leave. Shinon, Mia, and Boyd were similarly late risers, emerging only a few minutes before him. They stretched, yawned, and grumbled about the sun being too bright and too hot. Boyd had what appeared to be dried vomit on his shirtfront. Ike said nothing about the previous night to Soren or anyone else.

Rolf saw the late risers fed and watered, attempting to cheer them up with jokes and optimistic observations about the desert scenery. When they couldn’t delay any longer, the Greil Mercenaries took the north road out of Zunanma with Tormod and Muarim waving them off. This route was marked with flag posts, just as the south road had been, but they would have twice as much distance to cover to reach the mountains and fertile land beyond.

Fortunately, Tormod and Muarim had seen them well-supplied to deal with the harsh terrain, or they never would have survived the hard march. Eventually they reached green land again, exhausted but relieved. They all had sunburnt skin, sand rashes, blistered lips, and dust in every crevasse. They were parched from having to ration water, and they were starved for something fresh to eat. Soren wondered how the Branded colony could possibly choose to live in such a place. The only solution he could think of was that they were all insane after all.

Crossing the desert had dampened Soren’s interest in just about everything. All subjects ranging from the survival of the Branded hermits to the delicate social balance Zunanma, from Ike’s romantic entanglements to the rumored politics of New Daein—they all seemed the dull off-brown of sand. And Soren was sick of looking at sand.


	25. CHAPTER 56: THE TELGAM GAMES

Rejoining civilization, the Greil Mercenaries took simple jobs as needed to get by. They guarded a wagon laden with tax money. They tracked down and apprehended a variety of criminals: a man suspected of murder, a known killer, a large group of thieves, a couple infamous poachers, and so on. Some of their jobs were less typical: a group of parents paid them to scare their gang of kids into giving up their burgeoning lives as petty criminals, and some young men and women paid them to teach them how to fight. When jobs were scarce, they could always count on Mist and Rhys healing sick folk in return for food and shelter.

They spent the next four months wandering the regions of Gaddos and Seliora, where they found winter in Begnion relatively mild. Now that spring had come, they were planning to head north for Tor Garen, when their most recent employer offered a different suggestion.

“Why go to Daein, when there’s so much fortune to be made here?” he said (although no one had asked him). “All these upstarts headin’ north haven’t a clue the opportunities right under their noses!” He was happily patting the neck of one of his mares (a beast that would no longer have to fear horse thieves thanks to the Greil Mercenaries).

“Such as?” Titania asked, because it was obvious he wanted them to.

“I double my earnin’s each year in one week. Do you want to know how?”

“Sure,” Mist offered politely.

“Gamblin’.” The man stopped patting his horse to cross his arms.

“That sounds risky,” Oscar observed.

“Hah! Only someone bad at gambling would say that!”

Oscar looked slightly offended.

“Can someone be good at gambling?” Ike asked, bored and skeptical.

“Of course you can!” the stablemaster returned confidently. “You just got to know your stock. I bet on horse racin’ most often, but one week a year, I do my real earnin’.”

“And what happens on this particular week?” Titania asked, annoyance creeping into her voice.

The stablemaster smiled smugly. “The Telgam Games, of course! Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of the Telgam Games?”

Ike seemed to be thinking hard. “Telgam is the region west of here…”

“Exactly, exactly.” He nodded. “It’s the most famous strongman competition in all of Begnion. Been tradition for about a hundred years, prob’ly.”

“And you bet on the contestants?” Ike asked, as if he were having trouble following.

“And _win_ ,” he corrected.

“You’re particularly excited,” Soren observed, “which suggests the games are taking place soon. You hired us to hunt down those thieves so you wouldn’t have to worry while you’re gone. When is it? And what is the reward for the winning contestant?”

The stablemaster, who’d been warry of Soren since first meeting the mercenaries, appeared unnerved by his direct questions and analytical tone. “Just a couple weeks’ time. I’m headin’ out the day after tomorrow.” He paused, but Soren held his gaze to remind him of the second question. “Let me think… The pot changes e’ery year, but it gets the thirty-gold ante from each contestant, and us’ally some rare and valuable items too.”

Soren turned to Ike. “What do you think?”

“You’re saying we should check it out?” Ike asked, confused.

Soren shrugged. “I am asking you what you think.” He didn’t care about these games one way or another, but if it meant delaying their visit to Daein, he was willing to make the trip.

“I’d like to go!” Mia exclaimed, hand in the air. 

“I bet I could win,” Boyd laughed, flexing the muscles in both his arms.

“I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Titania shrugged.

“Ladies probably wait all year just to swoon at the sidelines…” Gatrie mused with a dreamy expression.

Ike sighed. “I guess Daein can wait.”

The stablemaster glanced from mercenary to mercenary as if surprised. But then his gaze grew stern and focused. He blatantly examined each man in the company (although completely passing over Soren, Rhys, and Rolf). The mercenaries grew quiet and awkward under his gaze.

“Are we done here?” Ike asked, obviously annoyed.

The stablemaster laughed, his expression changing again. He stuck out his hand so Ike could shake it. “Perhaps I will see you in Telgam!”

“Perhaps you will,” Ike agreed, accepting the handshake. “I don’t know much about gambling, but I do know one thing for sure: we’re all good bets.”

The man guffawed. “Now you’re speaking my language!”

Instead of heading north to Daein, the Greil Mercenaries continued west to Telgam hold. It was easy to get directions, since everyone they met was familiar with the festivities. Many were nearly as excited as the stablemaster, and some were even participants themselves, also on their way the games.

When they finally arrived, the first thing they saw was the enormous arena atop the hill just outside Telgam City. The road between the two was lined with vendors, and the base of the hill was similarly lined. In the plain beyond, a second city of tents had been erected with more arriving every hour. On either end of the campground were two more arenas. These were smaller and squarer than the one on the hill. Two roads connected them to the main hill, and these were lined with yet more vendors.

Smoke rose from countless cookfires. The spring air smelled like simmering meat and fried breadstuffs. The brisk night was kept warm by the proximity of so many bodies, and even as the evening hours drew on, the atmosphere was pervaded by laughter and drunken voices. There were so many torches and lanterns, the light seemed to overpower the stars in the sky. (Then again, their invisibility may also have been due to all the smoke.)

Having arrived several hours after sunset, the mercenaries explored the encampment and sought more information about the games. If Soren’s count was correct (which it always was), the competition was set to start the day after tomorrow.

“That’s not fair!” Mia cried suddenly. She ran her eyes over the document pinned to a wooden post for a second time, but the message didn’t change. It was a notification about the games’ rules. “No girls allowed?”

“Well it is a strong- _man_ ’s competition,” Gatrie chuckled.

Mia glared at him with fire in her eyes. “You wanna go?”

Gatrie raised his palms in mock-surrender. They sparred hand-to-hand often enough and were well matched if allowed to use the full extent of their strength and wits. But this was no place for such a brawl.

“What are the other rules?” Ike asked, edging to the front so he could read. “The age limit is eighteen, so you’re out too, Rolf.”

Rolf shrugged as if he didn’t mind. “Ah, that’s okay. I would’ve only wanted to do the archery competition anyway.”

“What kinds of competitions are there?” Boyd asked eagerly. However, this poster only listed the rules, not the outline of the games, so the mercenaries moved on. Most of the vendors were still open despite the late hour, so they picked up some greasy food and asked the stand’s owner about the games.

“Ah! You’ll be wantin’ to go the game hall. That’s where you sign up too. You boys thinking about participatin’?” He was clearly addressing Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd—the biggest of the group and the only ones who seemed the ‘strongman’ type. Oscar and Shinon were both on the leaner side, Rhys looked at first glance exactly how weak he was, and Rolf was still muddling through puberty (even if he’d had a significant growth spurt recently). Soren, of course, was Soren.

“We’re considering it,” Ike said with a shrug. “Can you point us in the right direction?”

“Sure I can,” the cheery vendor replied and quickly relayed instructions.

“Thanks,” Ike nodded and turned.

“Hold on, hold on!” he stopped them before they could slip away. “What towns are you representing? You don’t sound like you’re from around here—don’t tell me you came all the way from Tanas?”

Ike looked confused. “Do we have to represent a town?”

“Well, no.” The man seemed offended. “But the Telgam Games are a big deal! Bringin’ home the winner’s pot means bringin’ home a lot of honor for your hometown. We get more and more people every year. They’re comin’ from all over Begnion these days.”

“We’re mercenaries,” Ike explained. “From Crimea. But I guess if one of us wins, it makes our company look good.”

This answer seemed to annoy the vendor. A dark expression covered his friendly smile, like shreds of clouds passing over the sun. “Well, just make sure you respect the games,” he said by means of farewell.

The Greil Mercenaries headed toward the game hall. It was a long trek, and they ate their sticky, greasy cakes and licked their fingers as they walked.

The game hall stood at the edge of the city, and its porch opened outward so the front room had a perfect view of the hilltop arena. Heavily armed guards were stationed both inside and out. They eyed the mercenaries (and their weapons) warily.

A warm fire crackled in the hearth, beside which was a counter with two tired-looking young women behind it. Even at this time of night, they each had a line (albeit a short one). Eavesdropping for only a moment revealed that the people in line were all signing up to participate.

Rather than join the procession, the mercenaries turned their attention to the north-facing wall, which was plastered with information about the games in large, bold print. (Though Soren wondered how many of the participants could even read.)

The Telgam Games lasted seven days, and each day was themed. The first contained preliminary examinations: a series of exercises and demonstrations for all participants to prove their fitness. (It didn’t say to whom, but Soren could only assume it was to prove their abilities to the bettors in the audience). The next day was the first set of real events, and these were speed-based competitions ranging from footraces to horseracing. Participants had to compete in two of the offerings (this seemed to be the requirement for most of the days). After each event, the participates would be given scores based on their performance relative to their competitors. At the end of each day, a certain percentage was eliminated from the bottom ranks.

Day three featured accuracy-based events, ranging from archery to throwing javelins.

Day four promised still more throwing of things, this time for distance. Events ranged from disc-throwing to a simple stone toss.

Day five was balancing games. These ranged from trying to stand on a log in the middle of a pond to completing an obstacle course with an item on one’s head.

Day six was designated for two-on-two fighting, in which participants were paired and forced to fight against other pairs. Despite being competitors, they would have to work together in order to succeed and move up in the rankings. The types included punch-outs, wrestling, and some sort of fight with short wooden sticks held in each hand. Participants only had to choose one in which to compete.

The final day was the grand finale, during which the remaining contestants fought each other one-on-one in a tournament style until a single winner was left. The types of fighting were the same from the previous day, with the addition of something called shin-kicking. The participants could choose what style they started with, but as the day wore on, they would potentially have to fight in each of the four styles.

“It seems pricy given there’s no guarantee you will make it to the end…” Titania observed despite being unable to participate. “I recommend we spectate only.” Soren agreed, but he had a feeling as least one of the mercenaries would end up wasting their coin on the entrance fee.

“Hold on a second.” Shinon raised his hands. “We haven’t seen the prize.”

“This way,” said a young woman beside them. Apparently she’d been there the whole time. With hands clasped in front of her, she led the mercenaries to a tight-linked iron grate closing off a side room. Two guards were stationed on either side. “You may see for yourself,” she said, and the mercenaries crowded to see.

Inside the room was a trove of gold coins, red and blue gems, a fancy-looking sword, and two ancient-looking staves. Shinon whistled appreciatively under his breath.

A moment later, one of the young women at the counter deposited the coins she’d collected from participants into a slot in the wall. They clattered down a chute and dropped into the room on the other side of the grate. “Those are all from participants?” Ike asked.

“Yes, we have about six hundred competing this year,” the woman answered tonelessly. “With the ante at thirty gold per person, we expect a pot of eighteen thousand gold, with the additional items donated by generous families around Telgam.”

“Those staves,” Mist whispered to Ike, her voice filled with awe. “That’s a Hammerne and a Fortify Staff. They’re both really rare!”

Ike glanced from his sister to the staves. “Are you sure?”

Mist nodded.

“Would you like them?”

Mist looked embarrassed. “Oh, no it doesn’t matter.”

Ike wasn’t convinced. “I am going to win the games and get them for you.”

“Really, Brother, that’s not-”

“You’ll have to beat me to do it!” challenged Boyd. “Don’t worry, Mist, I will win you those staves. And then you’ll have to drop the Boss and be my sister instead. Muhahaha!” 

“Boyd, you- you idiot,” Mist stammered.

“If we’re doing it for Mist, count me in,” Oscar said with a smile.

“Naturally, I will be participating as well,” Gatrie said, with a wink aimed at the young woman. She grimaced in reply, no doubt used to this every day.

“I’ll give it a shot, but for the sweet, sweet cash,” Shinon said, crossing his arms. “Nothing else.”

“Rhys! Soren!” Ike laughed, throwing his arms around the necks of Boyd and Gatrie on either side. “You should join too!”

“I-I couldn’t possibly,” Rhys stuttered. Soren just stared, dumbstruck by the fact that Ike would even suggest such a thing.

“You don’t have to worry about winning! It’ll be fun to do it together.”

“You mean compete against each other,” Soren couldn’t help but point out, finding his tongue.

“Still sounds fun!” Boyd laughed. He shrugged off Ike’s arm and aimed a friendly punch at his kidney, which he easily blocked, smiling and only taking his eyes off Soren and Rhys for a second.

“No roughhousing in the game hall,” droned the young woman. (Again, she probably saw this a lot.)

“Well, I suppose I could try to last for a day,” Rhys said timidly. Soren blanched again, unable to believe what he was hearing.

“C’mon, Soren, now you _have_ to do it,” Ike urged. The others were already migrating toward the counter. Mia was pouting with her arms crossed and shoulders scrunched. Mist still looked embarrassed.

“Come on, Soren,” Boyd mimicked Ike’s urging.

“Absolutely not.” Soren crossed his arms in a manner he hoped looked more dignified than Mia’s. Rhys was already making him look like a coward by joining when Soren dared not. But actually participating and putting himself on display just to be humiliated would make him an even bigger fool. On this he would never budge.

Gatrie and Oscar had each reached a counter and were counting a combination of gold coins and Begnion credits. The others continued to urge Soren to join.

Except Shinon of course. “He couldn’t join even if he wanted to,” he sneered. “Don’t you guys remember? No kids allowed.”

This made Soren bristle, but he still didn’t concede.

“C’mon, Soren, prove him wrong!” egged Ike.

Soren just wished they would all stop. “No.”

But then Ike’s laughing subsided, and he grew more serious. This new expression was one of harsh kindness. “You owe me, Soren. Do this one thing.”

That made Soren freeze, and his walls came tumbling down.

Apparently, this showed on his face, because Ike grinned as if he knew he’d already won. “That’s right. I’m calling in my favor.”

Soren couldn’t believe Ike was bringing that up here, now, with everyone around. Their expressions were curious. _They must never know,_ he reminded himself, _They wouldn’t forgive me like he did_. Fear of this conversation continuing, rather than the actual favor itself, forced the next word from his mouth: “Fine.”

Ike looked victorious.

Soren glowered. He couldn’t believe Ike had cashed in his favor on something as meaningless as this. But if he wanted him to do it that badly, Soren would grit his teeth and play along.

“So mysterious,” crooned Titania.

Fortunately, the matter of Soren’s debt was soon forgotten. Mia stamped her foot and cursed loudly. “Damn it! Why can’t I play?”

“Perhaps you and I can coach the others,” Titania offered in consolation. “You’re right that it is an unfair and outdated rule. But I think you’ll find we’re better off for it this time.”

In reply, Mia snorted like an ox.

Soren and the others paid their ante. It was probably the largest waste of money he’d ever spent, and he found himself hoping someone in the company would win so they could earn all of their money back. But even as he thought it, he didn’t know if he believed it was possible

“You won’t make it past day one,” Shinon sneered in a low voice.

Soren glared. Then, recalling what he’d read on the wall, he said, “I’ll take that bet. Thirty gold.”

Shinon’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth twisted cruelly. “Confident are ya?”

“Very,” Soren returned.

“Fine, thirty gold, then.”

They shook hands, and Shinon’s grip was a sharp squeeze.

Soren’s mood instantly improved. What Shinon had either forgotten or hadn’t read clearly in the first place was that no one was eliminated on day one. Therefore, Soren was sure to make back his money.

The mercenaries pitched two tents among the hundreds of others. As usual, the women took the smaller one and the men the larger. They were cramped quarters but nothing the Greil Mercenaries weren’t used to.

None but Soren seemed immune to the festive atmosphere, so rather than preparing a simple meal at their own cookfire, everyone wanted to venture forth and buy their breakfast. At the vendors’ trumped-up prices, Soren disapproved. But he went along anyway.

The rest of the morning was spent completing their registration by choosing the events they would participate in and receiving their time slots and the locations where the various events would take place.

After an overpriced lunch, they broke into groups to train. Soren, Rhys, and Shinon had all signed up for swimming as one of their two races on the second day. Since it had been a good long while since any of them had actually swum, they practiced in the river nearby. They were joined by at least twenty other men, and Soren hated every minute of it.

Meanwhile, Rolf was instructing Ike and Boyd in archery. Apparently they’d been emboldened by their middling success at Astrid’s and signed up for the archery competition on the third day. Similarly, Mia later gave knife-throwing lessons to Soren and Rhys, Oscar javelin-throwing lessons to Soren, Rhys, and Shinon, and Boyd axe-throwing lessons to Ike, Gatrie, and Oscar.

Next to Rhys, Soren needed the most tutelage. He abhorred the feeling of the knife grip in his palm, the uneven weight of the javelin on his right side. He felt like a fool throwing these things, and he knew he looked like one. His arms felt like noodles he couldn’t fully control. But he swallowed his humiliation for Ike’s sake.

After their lessons, Mia slipped away. Soren still had one of her knives, and rather than hold on to the dreadful object, he tracked her down to return it. Even in the crowded camp, it was relatively easy for Soren to locate one of the familiar mercenaries.

To his surprise, however, when he finally found Mia, she didn’t look familiar at all. Her hair was tied in a tight bun. Her usual brightly-colored clothes had been replaced by a loose gray shirt and brown pants. The neck of the shirt was high, and there was dirt on her face, which was shaded with a wide-brimmed straw hat. And most striking of all—a bushy blue mustache adorned her upper lip, which she seemed to keep suspended by contorting her face in a ridiculous expression. When she saw him, her jaw dropped and the mustache held (clearly affixed with some sort of adhesive). “You’re competing,” he noted.

Mia pulled him aside to where they were less likely to be overheard. “I sure am,” she declared in an indignantly hushed tone. “Don’t tell the Boss.”

Soren didn’t think Ike would care; he would probably just laugh and wish her luck. Titania was the one to watch out for. She had an unhealthy respect for rules. “Give me a reason not to,” he said, although he didn’t actually care one way or another. If he had leverage, he was going to use it. While he considered his next move, he handed Mia the knife.

She took it without looking at it and whined under her breath: “What do you want?” She flipped the knife once in her hand, as if out of frustration, and then it disappeared into her shirt.

Soren couldn’t think of anything he wanted that Mia could actually provide. There was always money, but that was boring. “I don’t know,” he said honestly.

“Well, that shouldn’t be my problem,” she pouted, arms crossed. 

“I will think of something,” Soren decided. “You’ll just owe me until then.”

“That’s not-” Mia growled under her breath. “Fine. Whatever. But you’d better not tell anyone about this, and you have to cover for me if anyone wonders where I’ve gone, got it?”

“Agreed.”

She extended his hand, and Soren shook it. A mischievous smiled played across her lips. Then she saluted conspiratorially before disappearing into the crowd.

Soren considered pretending to be sick in the morning, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even had a runny nose and doubted he could fake it. He could feign food poisoning, but that was just embarrassing (and he knew the mercenaries would see right through the act).

There was nothing to do but rise when the others rose. Sleeping crammed together in a single tent, it wasn’t difficult to synchronize their morning routines. He dressed normally but left his wind tome behind; it wasn’t going to help him today. The rest of the men left their weapons behind as well. Rhys held his Heal staff hesitantly, seemingly uncertain about letting it go.

“What if someone gets injured?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m sure they will have healers on hand,” Oscar replied.

“It’s the preliminaries,” Boyd laughed. “No one’s going to get hurt.”

“You should worry about yourself,” Shinon sneered under his breath. It was unclear whether he was addressing Rhys or Boyd.

A cool mist hung over the tent camp, and it was just beginning to rise when the mass migration began. Hundreds of men sauntered toward the hilltop arena. Some walked arm-in-arm with old friends and new. Others had an arm around the waists of their wives and girlfriends. Others walked alone, arms pumping as if the commute to the arena itself might be a secret test. Many of the competitors left their campsites in the hands of boys and girls they’d hired from town to watch their things. Titania was their own tent-sitter today, which allowed Mist, Rolf, and Mia to walk with them.

Ike was wearing his headband as if heading into battle, but he looked off-balance without his sword and armor. In fact, everyone looked a bit strange. Naturally, Soren had seen them without their weapons and armor countless times before, but rarely like this. The mercenaries were walking toward a fight, but not because they had to or because anyone was paying them to do it. They were fighting for fun. The only other time Soren remembered seeing them like this was when they’d participated in the games at Phoenicis’s autumn festival. Fighting without weapons or armor—fighting for fun—it was a laguz thing to do.

After checking in and receiving their numbers, the six hundred or so participants assembled in rows on the arena floor. By the time the town mayor began his announcements, the raised seats around the arena were filled with spectators and bettors. Mist and Rolf were up there somewhere, but Soren had no idea where. He had better luck locating Mia, who was standing several rows back. The rest of the mercenaries stood on his right, because they were assembled in the order they’d signed up.

The mayor finished his less-than-inspiring speech, and the preliminaries began at the sound of a low, ceremonial horn. The mass of men (plus Mia) was then sub-divided into six groups, and each group began exercising their members. The results were monitored by officials scratching away at scrolls of paper held against wooden boards. Soren endured the incessant sound of scribbling, the nasally voice of their group’s director, and the hungry gazes of bettors raining down from above.

The true trials, however, were even worse. First the competitors were all weighed and measured like meat at a butcher’s shop. Then they began completing the required tasks one at a time. Weight-lifting, sprinting, jumping for height, jumping for distance, climbing over a wall, climbing up a rope, throwing a punch, kicking a dummy, stretching for flexibility and balance, throwing things, catching things—the tests seemed endless. And each seemed even more humiliating than the last.

Soren ignored the snickering, the whispered insults (and the shouted ones) whenever it was his turn. It wasn’t anything he didn’t already get from Shinon. They called him kid, girl, invalid, faggot, freak, waif, and so on. They demanded to know why he was here, what audacity had led him to join, and what joke the administrators were playing by letting him stay. The mocked him; they laughed. But they didn’t threaten him. Naturally, they weren’t intimidated enough to bother.

Soren wasn’t the only recipient of unkind words. Everyone called insults, challenges, and threats to each other. They described in detail the brutal (and often disgusting) things they were going to do to each other on the sixth and seventh days. But this was a sign of respect. They actually expected the victims of their verbal slaughter to make it to the sixth and seventh days. Naturally, Ike, Boyd, and Gatrie each received a barrage such as this.

Soren was used to the slurs and insinuations, and yet they grated on him like never before. He was conscious of Ike’s ears hearing all of this and Ike’s eyes comparing him to the rest. Soren didn’t usually care about how small and weak he looked, but he did wonder if Ike cared. He wondered what Ike preferred.

These were pointless musings. Not for the first time, Soren reprimanded himself and told himself to stop thinking about Ike that way. Sometimes he succeeded, but never for long. At least for now, he would try to focus on these ridiculous challenges.

They broke for two hours around the middle of the day, and the mercenaries returned to Titania. She greeted them with a cheery wave and a cold lunch. She was looking very relaxed, apparently having made a throne for herself by piling up everyone’s belongings. She had a pair of needles and a ball of red yarn in her lap, but the tangled mess strung between the needles could hardly be called knitting. “How is it going?” she asked brightly.

“Not well, I’m afraid,” Rhys pouted, sitting beside her and relieving her of the yarn. He raised an eyebrow in concern. “How has it been here?”

“Dreadfully boring!” Titania sighed. “At first I chatted with some of the other ladies who’ve stayed behind, but I don’t think they liked me much.” (She shrugged as if to say she didn’t know why that would be.) “Where’s Mia? I thought she was replacing me for the afternoon?”

Ike’s brow drew in concern. “I thought she beat us back. You haven’t seen her?”

Rolf and Mist exchanged glances, and she added: “She slipped away when we were taking our seats—saying she was going to look for an outhouse. But we haven’t seen her since.”

Ike frowned. “Should we go looking for her?”

“It’s Mia,” Gatrie guffawed, “She can take care of herself just fine.”

Ike didn’t appear convinced.

Realizing it was time for him to keep his end of the bargain, Soren spoke up. “I know where she is.” Everyone looked surprised. “She is helping me place bets,” he quickly lied. “She is probably charming the bettors now.”

“Mia? Charming?” Shinon snorted.

“Why didn’t you say so! I think I’d like in on that action.” Gatrie rubbed his chin.

“But, isn’t it against the rules for competitors to place bets?” Mist asked.

“I didn’t take you for a gambler,” Titania said disapprovingly

Soren turned to Ike, the only one whose reaction mattered, and awaited his judgment.

“What you do with your own money is your own business, but you should leave Mia out of it. Tell her the deal’s off after lunch.” Ike uttered the words as if passing a sentence. Everyone accepted this and turned their mouths to their meals. Soren was satisfied his lie had held for now.

After lunch, he pretended to search of Mia but walked around the camp until it was time for the competitors to return. He played with the idea of not going, but then Shinon would win the bet, and Soren would have lost sixty gold in the debacle. Grudgingly, he put one foot in front of the other and headed to the arena for a second round of humiliation. 

By the end of the day, Soren was exhausted. Not that it had been particularly hard work—the vast majority of the time had been spent waiting and watching the hundred other men performing their exercises, which had quickly become mind-numbingly boring. Only Ike’s turns had captured his interest.

When each of the six groups were finally finished, the town mayor declared the end to the first day, announcing that the results would be made public in three hours’ time at the game hall. He added that participants in the carrier race would be given priority to look at the board.

“Why’s that I wonder?” asked Oscar as the mercenaries exited the arena.

“We have to choose our partners before tomorrow,” Ike yawned.

“The person we carry during the race has to be another competitor in the games,” Gatrie explained, “someone from the weight class directly below us.”

“I see,” Oscar nodded. “And if you can’t find anyone?”

“Oh, you just get matched with somebody,” Boyd answered. “I’m not worried about it.”

“So all three of you are signed up to compete?”

Ike grinned. “Yup—tomorrow we’ll be opponents!”

“Why wait until tomorrow?” Boyd wrapped Ike into a chokehold, but he easily pulled out of the hold and wrenched Boyd’s arm behind his back. Rather than hold him there, however, he released him and kept walking with a satisfied smile.

“So who’s getting Soren?” chimed Shinon in an oily voice.

“What?” he snapped back.

“You’ve got to be the scrawniest competitor in the games,” Shinon explained. “Which makes you the prettiest girl at the party. For once in your life, everyone’s gonna to want to dance with you.”

Soren glared for a few moments before saying, “Yes, I am a competitor, and the first day is over, which means it is time for you to pay up. I’ll accept gold, Begnion credits, or Crimean silver. Don’t try to dump Daein copper on me. You know it’s worthless these days.”

Now it was Shinon’s turn to scowl. “This didn’t count as the first day.”

“What else would you call it?” Soren asked. “Pay up if your word is worth anything.”

Shinon growled something under his breath about taking care of it when they got back to the tent (with a few choice words scattered in), but Soren was satisfied he would uphold his end of the bargain.

“What is with you and gambling today?” Gatrie laughed.

“It is half the fun of the Telgam Games, remember?” Soren replied icily. “Besides, it wasn’t much of a gamble. Shinon is just an idiot.”

Shinon lunged to throttle him, but Soren skipped smoothly around Gatrie’s opposite side. “Hey, hey! Save it for the games!” Gatrie laughed, seizing Shinon in a side-hug to keep him from pursuing Soren any further.

Just then, Titania jogged to them though the quickly-thinning crowd. Mist had elected to stay at the camp since Mia had never returned, and Rolf had elected to stay with Mist. “Good show, boys!” Titania congratulated them. “How about we celebrate with a dinner in the city tonight?” She held up a scrap of paper the size of her hand that screamed ‘Coupon!’ in thick black ink. “They were passing these out in the stands. I was lucky to get one.” She passed it to Ike, and Soren suspected luck had nothing to do with it. He imagined Titania pushing other spectators out of the way—possibly launching herself over their heads.

“Sounds good,” Ike said, handing the coupon off to Soren. “Let’s get back to Mist and Rolf, then we can wash up a bit before we go.” He glanced around. “Hopefully Mia shows up too.” His gaze settled expectantly on Soren.

Soren considered saying he couldn’t find her. But he didn’t want Ike to worry, so he decided to spin a more elaborate lie: “I was able to track her down, but unable to speak to her. She was fighting at the time. It seems she’s started up an unofficial competition among women and boys too young to compete.”

“Well, that sounds legal,” Shinon snorted sarcastically.

“Oh well,” Ike sighed. “At least she’s having fun.” (Soren made a mental note to catch Mia up on her growing list of alibis the next time he saw her.)

Gatrie, Shinon, Oscar, Boyd, and Rhys departed for the river soon after arriving at camp, but Ike, Mist, Rolf, and Titania went to see a man performing fire tricks several tents down. Soon after they disappeared, Mia snuck back into camp.

“You’re helping me place bets, and you’ve started a fighting ring for women and children,” Soren said by way of greeting.

Mia raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been busy.”

Soren shrugged.

“Well, thanks.” She smiled brightly. “I did pretty good today. How about you?”

“Dismally.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” she laughed. “Where have the other’s gone off to?”

“Bathing—we’re all going to dinner in the city. I am fairly certain Titania mauled some innocent bystanders to procure a deal for us.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke, but she laughed anyway. “Alright, I’ll try to catch up. Are you coming along?”

Soren shook his head and ducked inside the empty tent. He would rather use the wash basin than join the others at the river. He’d faced enough humiliation for one day and would hate it if someone recognized him and continued to mock him outside of the games

He was aware of the others returning outside and words passing between them and Mia when their paths crossed, but he tried to ignore them. He removed his tunic, dampened his hair, and started twisting a rag down the strands to remove the dirt and sweat. But then the tent flap burst inward, and the peaceful bubble popped.

Ike strode in. “Hey Soren, I wanted to talk to you-” he was saying (which were hardly ever good words to hear).

“Yes?” He put down the rag and searched for his tunic, which was draped over a rope loop hanging from the tent’s peak. Ike grasped it before he could and handed it to him. But his movements were slow, and he seemed suddenly distracted by something. Soren couldn’t help but notice his gaze lingered on the ugly scar Petrine had engraved on his chest. Of all the pockmarks the war had left on his body, this had attracted the most attention from the people of Zunanma too. But Soren would have hoped Ike was used to it by now. “What?” he asked in irritation, pulling on the tunic.

Ike shook his head. “Sorry. It’s just, every time I see that scar, I remember how close we were to losing you that day… You could have died.”

The scar stretched horizontally across his chest, sweeping across his heart and ending near his left shoulder. It was dark pink, raised, and gruesome—a remnant of a wound most people wouldn’t have walked away from. As someone with a Brand in the center of his forehead, Soren knew it was foolish to be vain, and yet he was glad the ugly thing was now covered. “It was war,” he said dismissively. “We all could have died every second of every battle.”

“That’s exactly what I mean!” Ike drew a hand down his face as if struggling with a difficult thought. Soren doubted this was the original purpose of his intrusion, but apparently Ike wanted to have this conversation now. “It never seemed like it at the time, but you’re right. That day by Riven Bridge, I saw you fall and I fought Petrine instead of checking on you. When I defeated her, I left you with Mist and ran off to fight someone else. Anyone else. I left you there, and I didn’t give it another thought.”

“You couldn’t.” Soren hoped Ike wasn’t actually beating himself up about such a small thing. “You had a battle to win—and Crimeans to treat with, if I remember correctly. If you’d allowed yourself to be so easily distracted, we never would have won the war.”

“Maybe…” Ike didn’t seem convinced.

Silence stretched between them until Soren put an end to it. “What did you want to talk about?” he asked. “I am sure you didn’t come to reminisce about old battle scars.”

“Oh yeah, well…” Ike shook his head. “I just wanted to say thank you—and sorry, I suppose. I realize why you might not want to put yourself in front of all those people, and I heard the things some of those guys were say-”

“I am used to it.”

“But still-”

“I am used to it,” he repeated more firmly. “It’s fine. If this is how you want my debt repaid, then I will pay it.”

“That’s not the point,” Ike said, frustrated. “It’s not supposed to be a punishment. It’s supposed to be fun.”

 _Fun?_ Soren thought in disbelief, _All this ridiculous showmanship?_ He wondered what could possibly be fun for him in this. Comparing himself to others was humiliating, and he certainly didn’t have an actual chance to win the prize. But the opportunity to prove people wrong didn’t sound too bad. No one expected him to last tomorrow, let alone the day after that. If he did, he wondered how upset people would become. Perhaps they would even be embarrassed.

“Fine,” Soren finally agreed. “I will try to have an open mind.”

This made Ike’s face light up, and he appeared satisfied to have gotten what he wanted. He clapped Soren on the back. “Alright then! I’m off to catch up to the others.” He waved goodbye as he left.

Soren picked up the rag from where he’d set it on the edge of the basin and resumed washing his hair, but he did so with only half his attention. The other half was scheming:

Tomorrow he would have to swim and sprint as fast as he could just to stay in the competition. Greil had taught him to swim when he was young, during the time he’d spent with Ike’s family. Considering it a valuable skill, he’d tried to maintain the practice over the years, but he was no master. As for running, he was generally quick and light on his feet in battle, but in a straight race, the men with longer legs would have the advantage.

If he somehow survived tomorrow, then would come the accuracy and distance contests. These he was sure to fail—unless he cheated. Soren’s true strength was magic. With wind magic in particular, he could achieve pin-point accuracy. However, the use of tomes and magical items was strictly forbidden. Even when they’d entered the arena today, all the competitors had been patted down. The guards were watching for vulneraries, olivi grass, enchanted pure water, holy statue fragments, strength bands, and whatever else a man might bring with him in an attempt to improve his standing. Sneaking a tome in would be impossible. Not to mention the punishment if he was caught would be disqualification and (according to the signs posted around the campgrounds) a day spent in stockades.

But Ike had told Soren to have fun, and to have fun, there had to be a certain level of risk involved. This would be a worthwhile challenge for him, unlike the games themselves. He smiled at the thought; perhaps he could have some fun after all.

Soren pulled Mia aside just before dinner. The restaurant was mobbed, and the eleven mercenaries were waiting for a space to clear so they could be seated inside. “I need to talk to you about those bets,” Soren said, loud enough for the others to hear.

“Just a moment,” she said cheerily to Boyd, who happened to be the closest. He just raised his hand in farewell.

Soren and Mia walked until they were out of earshot.

“What is the alias you are using to compete?” he asked first, to throw her off guard.

“Uh, Percival,” she managed, clearly confused. “Percival of Melior. I’m an immigrant from Crimea.”

Soren looked at her skeptically.

“I’m no good with accents, okay?” she said in exasperation. “I was raised just outside of Melior, and I sound about as Crimean as you can get.”

“Fine. What events are you doing on the third day?”.

“Why?” she asked cautiously. When he didn’t answer, she sighed: “Knife and javelin.”

“Perfect.” Soren had expected as much. “Those are the same I will be doing. You are going to help me cheat.”

“What? Why?” She seemed more confused than surprised.

Soren just shrugged. “It could be interesting.” _And less embarrassing_ , he added mentally.

“How?” Mia crossed her arms.

“I’ll bring a page from my tome and use wind magic.”

“They’ll disqualify you if they find out.”

“It’s just a page. I’ll hide it well enough.”

“Alright,” Mia cocked her head. “So how do I play into your plan?”

“Percival and I are going to practice together, and you will help me synchronize my throw with my spell until it looks natural.”

“I’m surprised,” Mia said after a few moments’ pause. “You were completely uninterested in practicing yesterday.”

“Playing by the rules was boring.” It was the only explanation he was going to offer.

“So helping you practice is all?” Mia asked uncertainly. “I suppose that’s safe enough.”

“Do we have a deal?”

Mia spat into her palm and held it out (a practice Soren despised).

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, refusing to take her hand. He made his way back to the restaurant. Wiping her hand on her dress, Mia skipped along too.

The mercenaries stood outside until the ground grew cold with frost. But not long after that, they were finally seated inside. The place was packed, smoky, hot, and loud. Most of the patrons appeared to be groups of competitors or competitors with their families.

The mercenaries made the wait worth their while by stuffing their faces, and Soren watched the bill climb. The others were digging into their eighth course (but Soren had laid down his utensils long ago), when the restaurant suddenly seemed even fuller.

Seven tall, red-faced men stood from their table and stepped across the narrow aisle to the mercenaries’. Soren stared at them, perfectly aware of their ill intentions. He’d overheard them murmuring snide comments about the ‘disrespectful foreign bastard mercenaries’ for the past quarter hour. 

Ike noticed them from his place at the head of the table, and he rested both of his fists on the wooden surface. It didn’t take long for the rest to notice, and they all met the men’s surly glares.

“You lot the Cry-me-ants?” asked the one in the middle—possibly the leader of this merry band. His horrendous mispronunciation of ‘Crimea’ was clearly intentional, and Soren wondered why he thought sounding so stupid could be at all threatening.

“What’s it to you?” Ike asked.

“Nothing,” the second man sneered, “You mean nothing to us.” He seemed pleased with himself, as if he’d said something particularly clever.

Ike raised an elegant blue eyebrow. “Alright then.”

“If you’re looking to start something,” Shinon yawned, “get to the point.”

“Why? You looking for a fight?” the first one said, fists raised.

Shinon shrugged and started amusing himself with the mess of bones and gizzards just beyond his plate. He seemed content to ignore them.

A third man, the meekest of the bunch, put a hand on the first’s shoulder and said in a hushed voice, “Hey Bordo, there’s ladies and kids.”

Mia, who was sitting between Ike and Boyd, suddenly stood and slammed both hands on the table. “There are no ladies or kids here. Say what you came to say!”

The second fixed Mia with an amused glare. “Feisty one, aren’t you?”

Mia crossed her arms but didn’t sit back down. “I’ll show you feisty,” she muttered under her breath.

“We just came to deliver a friendly warning to our foreign friends,” the leader—Bordo—said. He leaned back on his heels, getting into the groove of his threat again.

“Shoot,” Ike said almost lazily.

“Maybe you don’t realize this, but this is a Begnion competition. It’s tradition.”

“I think we realized that,” Ike answered. He turned to either side of the table. “You guys realize that?”

“I realized that!” Rolf announced obediently, hand in the air.

This made Bordo actually snarl. “So then maybe you realize that something here doesn’t belong.”

“Is it you?” Gatrie offered, glancing around. The restaurant had fallen silent, and everyone was staring. “I think it might be you. Everyone’s sta-”

“Shut it, big boy!” Bordo shouted.

Gatrie seemed surprised at first, but then he just started laughing. The other mercenaries snickered. Ike stood, and it was a sign for everyone else to stand with him. They tried their best to look intimidating, and the laughter died instantly.

“Why don’t you fellows head home?” Titania suggested.

But the seven men didn’t budge. To their credit, they stood their ground. The moments ticked by until the restaurant owner came pushing his way through the crowded room. “No fighting! There’s no fighting in here or you’ll all be kicked out! Save it for the games!”

Bordo finally relented. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll leave town before the first competition tomorrow.” Then he and his friends turned to leave.

Satisfied that they were backing down, Soren glanced to see what Shinon was up to. He hadn’t stopped moving his hands this entire time. He seemed to have constructed a tiny crossbow-like mechanism out of fragmented bones and a single stripped sinew. Before Soren’s eyes he loaded it with a toothpick, lifted it to eye level, and released the prop holding back the sinew.

To Soren’s amazement, the toothpick flew through the air and found its mark just below the nape of Bordo’s neck. He slapped the spot as if bitten by fly, successfully lodging the sliver of wood in his palm. He screamed in surprise and pain. His friends were instantly on guard.

Rounding on the mercenaries, the man plucked the toothpick from his palm and bellowed, “You shot me!”

But Shinon had already dropped his mechanism to the floor and crushed it underfoot. Ike spared Shinon an admonishing glance before turning his full attention to the man. “With what?” he said innocently.

“Outside! Take it outside!” the owner cried, obviously confused about what had just happened and desperate to avoid a fight. For good measure, he placed himself between the departing party and the mercenaries’ table.

After a few tense moments, the men spilled their money on their former table and left the restaurant. The owner sighed in relief when they were gone, but he was still angry. While his wife collected the scattered coins, he turned to the mercenaries. “You’re done,” he declared, “Pay and get out of here. It’s busy enough without your kind stirring up trouble!” He returned to the kitchen without another word.

Ike sat down, so the others mirrored him. Gatrie pushed the final potato from his plate into his mouth in one steaming bite. Mist pushed her plate away with a sigh. “I’m stuffed anyway.”

Ike nodded. “Let’s finish up and head over to the game hall before it gets too late.”

The others nodded while Rolf peeked under the table at the remains of Shinon’s contraption. “Can you teach me how to do that?” he asked eagerly.

Shinon wiped his greasy hands on his pants. “Maybe someday, kid.”

“Do you always have to escalate things?” Oscar asked. As usual, he seemed annoyed by Rolf’s interest in Shinon.

The archer shrugged. “Why not?”

Titania sighed. “Well, I suppose we’ll have to keep an eye out for our ‘friends’ now.”

Ike shrugged. “We’re not breaking any rules. We paid our ante like anyone else. We’re in the games, whether those guys like it or not.”

“Try explaining that to them,” Mia said, jerking her head toward the door.


	26. CHAPTER 57: THE COMPETITION

After settling their bill, the mercenaries ambled down the cold street toward the game hall. Although hours had passed, a large crowd was still pushing and shoving to get in. From the direction of everyone’s attention, Soren assumed the results had been posted on the wall opposite the rules.

“We carriers get easy access, right?’ Gatrie asked.

“Let’s go check it out,” Ike suggested. “Everybody else, stay here.” He, Gatrie, and Boyd were soon swallowed by the crowd.

Soren and the others followed Titania around the side of the building. A bitter breeze was blowing tonight, but it was more comfortable here. Everyone felt full and sleepy after the meal, and conversation was sparse while they waited.

When the trio returned, they reported everyone’s standing and weight class, but they hadn’t memorized anything more specific about the breakdown or comparisons across the subcategories of fitness. Soren didn’t care anyway. As expected, he’d been placed in the lowest of the three weight classes and rated near the bottom of the standings as a whole.

“So here’s what we were thinking,” Boyd addressed the group. He was holding three papers, but he handed one to Gatrie and one to Ike. “We’d all do better tomorrow if we’re carrying someone we know. Less chance of some idiot off-balancing us or even slowing us down on purpose.”

“I thought you said you weren’t worried about it?” Titania recalled.

“I changed my mind.” Boyd grinned. “It’s a competition, ain’t it?”

“What Boyd is saying is that our odds are better if we each team up with another member of the Greil Mercenaries,” Ike said, taking over the plan. “Gatrie is in class three, so it makes the most sense for him to pair up with the lightest one of us from class two. That’s you Shinon.”

“Fat chance,” he spat.

“Oh come on, bud!” Gatrie threw an arm around Shinon’s shoulders. “After all those times I carried you home when you were piss drunk? This’ll be a cinch!”

Shinon scowled.

Ike moved on before Gatrie could accept the archer’s surrender. “Boyd and I are in class two, so it makes sense for us to team up with our two class-one members: Rhys and Soren.”

After Shinon’s comments earlier, Soren had expected this. By no means was he fond of the prospect, but he did agree with Ike’s logic. “I will do what I must to secure victory for the Greil Mercenaries,” he answered stiffly.

“I suppose I would like to help,” Rhys consented. “I don’t expect to do well in my own categories tomorrow, so it may be nice to help one of you to win.”

“Yes!” Boyd roared and pretended to pick Rhys up. “To victory!”

“Please be gentle!” Rhys squeaked. He winced, and Boyd altered his attack so he merely wrapped an arm around him instead.

“That decides it.” Ike nodded with finality. “Boyd and Rhys will be a pair, and Soren and I will be a pair.” He held the paper out to Soren. “We need to sign these and turn them in by tomorrow. Does anyone have anything to write with?”

Titania and Mist shook their heads. Rolf and Mia shrugged. Rhys started patting his robes all over, but Soren knew he no longer carried a quill and ink with him since he used to break the bottles and stain the pockets of his otherwise-white robes. That left Soren, who was always prepared. He kept a stylus and small vial of liquid ink in the pocket of his tome’s holster.

Soon his and Ike’s name and numbers adorned the paper (Soren’s in perfect script and Ike’s in child’s scrawl). Then Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd returned to the game hall.

“You three have a busy day tomorrow,” Titania commended Soren, Rhys, and Shinon while the others were gone. “Be sure to rest well tonight.”

“Save it, mom,” Shinon shot back. Turning up the collar of his jacket, he plunged his hands into his pockets and strode away. He was heading into the city, rather than away from it, and Soren suspected he would be doing the opposite of resting well this evening.

When Ike and the others returned, Gatrie ran off after Shinon, lamenting: “He didn’t wait for me?” Boyd seemed like he wanted to join them. But a stern look from Oscar dissuaded him from these ambitions, and he joined the rest on the trek back to camp.

After a while, Mia suddenly said she’d forgotten a hairpin at the restaurant and ran back the way they’d come. Soren said nothing, knowing she was going back to see how ‘Percival’ had performed in the rankings.

When they entered the campgrounds next to the arena, Titania and Oscar split off to check on their horses before turning in for the evening. Oscar would be riding tomorrow, and he seemed anxious that his mare be emotionally prepared. (Soren thought this was ridiculous.)

Soon it was only Ike, Mist, Boyd, Rolf, Rhys, and himself.

“Thanks for going along with all of this,” Ike said. “I know neither of you wanted to participate in the first place.”

“It is no trouble, Ike,” Rhys answered.

Soren said nothing.

The water events took place in the morning, and Soren woke up at the crack of dawn to practice. The camp was already alive with the smell of breakfast cooking and the voices of excited people. While a large crowd of men migrated toward the river for the rowing competition, Soren headed toward the pond where the swimming competition would take place later. Gatrie and Oscar joined the crowd, since they’d both signed up to row. Mia was also missing, and Soren could only guess Percival had elected to row as well.

When he arrived at the pond, he found he was not the only one to have this idea. Over a dozen men were already splashing around in the cold water, wearing serious expressions as they tried to ignore one another. Soren stripped down to his under-trousers and threw his pack (which contained a dry blanket, his clothes, and his shoes) over the branch of a tree. He knew there was a chance it wouldn’t be there when he returned, but it was a risk he had no choice but to take. (As an added precaution he’d hidden an extra tunic in a bundle under a rock in the woods nearby. He was nothing if not prudent, and he knew too well how cruel beorc could be.)

Plunging into the water, Soren wasted no time setting himself a course the approximate length of the competition and swimming from one point to the other with a variety of strokes to see which one would serve him best. The water was brisk, but not dangerously cold. The pond’s bottom was thick with slimy green tendrils, but it was deep enough that Soren could avoid that unpleasantness for the most part.

Rhys and Shinon turned up later, albeit separately. Titania came with Rhys and sat on shore with his satchel, calling encouragement while he practiced.

Not wanting to exhaust himself before the competition began, Soren left the water and returned to where he’d placed his things. On the bright side, his satchel and possessions were still there. Unfortunately, it had been emptied and every item inside soaked before being thrown high into the tree. The sopping wet clumps were out of reach and useless now.

Annoyed and starting to shiver, Soren wrapped his arms around himself and went to the woods where he’d hidden his emergency clothes. The package was still there, but a single wrinkled tunic didn’t offer much warmth. Checking the sun’s position, Soren estimated the rowing competition would just be ending and he would have enough time to retrieve fresh clothes from camp.

Walking back dripping wet and without any shoes, Soren was reminded of how much he hated beorc, and this hatred kept him relatively warm.

When it was time for the swimming race, Ike, Titania, Mist, Rolf, and Mia all stood on the beach to cheer on their three comrades. Meanwhile, Soren, Rhys, and Shinon were standing with the other competitors on the wharf where locals would normally tie up their fishing boats. But there was only one boat to be seen anywhere on the pond, and it floated on the calm water, just beyond the ten brightly-painted wooden buoys bobbing in the distance. The competitors would dive in sets of ten, swim to their respective buoys, and return to the wharf where scribes and judges would record their times. It was no short distance, and the test was clearly meant to challenge those who couldn’t endure swimming at speed for a longer period of time. Soren just hoped he wouldn’t be one of them.

He would be in the second group to dive, and as he watched the first group go, he considered just how much he didn’t want to do this. He was so consumed by these thoughts that he hardly noticed the tap on his shoulder.

“Youngster,” a wiry-framed older man said to get his attention. By the fact that he was dressed only in a pair of shorts, Soren deduced he must be one of the competitors, despite his advanced age. “Perhaps you can put an end to this d’bate I’ve been having with my friend here.” Next to him stood another old man, this one with a bushy beard and barrel chest.

Soren ignored them and attempted to move away so they wouldn’t try to talk to him again. Now that they’d seen his face and his Brand, he doubted they would touch him or try to speak to him again. But he was wrong.

“Hold on there, we just want to ask a question!” The man touched his shoulder again, and Soren twisted around, irritated by his persistence.

“What?”

“Well, my friend and I have diff’ring opinions on the best strat’gy to win a race.”

“There are only two strategies,” Soren returned swiftly, “To outpace your opponent or to outsmart them, but the latter is traditionally called cheating. Your opinion on the matter is entirely your own.”

“Oh that’s not what we mean,” the friend cut in, waving his arms. “The thing is, I think the best way to mot’vate yourself to swim your fastest is to ‘magine you are swimming toward something you love.”

“And _I_ think the fastest way,” said the first man, “is to ‘magine you’re swimming ‘way from the thing you fear most in the world.”

They both looked at Soren expectantly. “Well, what do you think?” asked the friend.

Soren glared at them, but he had a feeling they wouldn’t go away until he answered. “The solution is simple,” he replied coolly. “Merely imagine that the person you care about is drowning and let both your duty and fear propel you.” Both older men wore expressions of awe, as if such an idea had never occurred to them before. “Now leave me alone.” He slipped through the crowd and hoped the men wouldn’t follow. Fortunately, they did not.

With that annoyance behind him, Soren gazed out over the water to watch the swimmers returning. Rhys was in this group, and he was doing poorly compared to the others. However, it was impossible to know how he would compare to the rest of the competitors until all of the times were recorded.

When he finally reached them, someone had to grab his arm to help him climb back onto the wharf. He flopped onto the ground looking weak and blue. But a moment later, Titania swept down upon him with a blanket. “You did splendidly, Rhys,” she cooed, and Soren was surprised he hadn’t sensed her approach. He wondered if it was the size of the crowd or just his nerves impairing his judgment.

He had to admit he was nervous. He didn’t want to perform poorly today—not with Ike and the others watching. Now it was his turn to stand at the edge of the stone wharf and prepare to jump. He stared at the buoy that would be his target and waited to hear the gong that would start the race.

The instant he heard it, he dove, and then his singular focus was on swimming in a straight line. He kicked his legs rhythmically, at a pace he judged he could sustain, and he arced one arm after the other, breathing as he turned his head. He couldn’t afford to veer off course, so he tried to maintain a balance of motion on either side and glanced up sparingly to be certain he was still on track. Efficiency could be a deciding factor in this race.

When he finally reached the buoy, he tapped it and changed direction as quickly as he could. He couldn’t afford to lose precious seconds floundering here, no matter how tired he’d already become. Although he was focused almost entirely on his technique, he was also aware that there were several men ahead of him. This was to be expected, but since Soren didn’t know how the other nine in his group would compare to others, it was worthless to compare himself to them. He could only swim as fast as he could. 

But he was quickly losing energy. Recalling the two men who’d harassed him before the race, Soren wondered if he should take his own advice. He didn’t often vouch for the power of imagination, but another swimmer had just passed him so Soren decided to give it a shot.

Perhaps he was desperate to prove to himself that his unnatural and unhealthy obsession with Ike could somehow be beneficial if harnessed correctly. After all, there had been many battles in which he’d rushed to Ike’s aid, and he’d always felt fastest in those moments. With this thought in mind, he tried to convince himself Ike was bleeding out on the wharf or some such nonsense. He couldn’t be sure if it worked, but soon he reached the stone wall and the race was over. Turning around with his hand on the rocks, he saw four people still swimming behind him. It was better than being last.

Ignoring the people offering him their arms, Soren gripped the ledge with both hands and lifted himself up. He was shivering from the cold and the exhaustion in his limbs, but he refused to lay vulnerably on the ground like Rhys. With teeth rattling and legs feeling like jelly, he stumbled through the crowd.

However, he didn’t make it far before someone tackled him with a blanket. For a moment he thought he was being attacked, but then he realized Titania had come to greet him just as she had for Rhys. Ike was there too, grinning widely. “Nice job!”

Soren nodded once, not quite trusting his voice, and wrapped the towel around his shoulders more tightly. He couldn’t stop the small smile stretching his numb lips. Now that it was over, he had to admit it’d been somewhat exhilarating.

He pulled on the shirt, trousers, and boots he’d worn here, but they were immediately dampened by his wet body and under-trousers and did little to help him feel warmer. Instead of staying with the others to watch Shinon swim (a pastime he had absolutely no interest in), Soren returned to the camp and changed into dry clothes for the second time today.

Then he took his tome back to the pond and used wind magic to knock his possessions out of the tree while everyone was busy watching the final swimming race. With that, the morning’s trials were behind him. Soren hoped the rest of the competitions would be less embarrassing—but he knew they wouldn’t be. 

The footrace was the most popular event of the day and took place just after noon. Soren had the chance to eat beforehand but decided to wait. The other mercenaries participating in this event had made the same decision, except for Boyd who’d stuffed his face, asking, “Why not? More fuel to burn, right?”

Once his turn came, Soren ran as fast as he could without wearing himself out prematurely. He was immediately outpaced by men with longer strides, but he knew his gait was more efficient and sustainable. He regulated his breathing as if he were in a battle, and he didn’t relent. Toward the end of the race, he once again tried the imagination technique he’d suggested to the old swimmers. Although he felt foolish letting the silly idea get into his head, he did feel a spike in his blood—and perhaps felt he could run faster—when convincing himself of Ike’s imminent doom. When he crossed the finish line, panting hard, he swore he would never let Ike know about this. He would surely find it touching, and Soren didn’t want to coddle the young commander.

Soren and Rhys had run with the same group, and he was relieved to see he easily outstripped the healer. How he compared to the rest of the mercenaries (Ike, Shinon, Boyd, and Percival) would remain to be seen.

The day’s penultimate event was the horserace, which should have been easy for Oscar except for the fact that, shortly before the race, he discovered someone had tampered with his saddle by completely cutting the girth strap. Ike was furious, but Oscar asked that he stay calm and not make a scene on his behalf. Titania lent Oscar her saddle, and although it was not what he was used to, he and his steed still performed exemplarily. Soren, however, didn’t actually watch the race, because after Titania solved the sabotage problem, he and Mia had departed to the woods beyond the campgrounds for their first training session.

As evening approached, the time came for the final event: the carrier race. Everyone was tired, most competitors were finished for the today, and relatively few showed up to spectate (which was fine by Soren). The members of the carrier race stood at the starting line while their ‘wards’ lined up behind them. An announcer explained the course and had a young boy he introduced as his son help him model the various forms of carrying that were permitted: in arms, over the shoulders, piggy-back, and a third uncomfortable-looking position in which the ward hung up-side-down with their legs clamped around the carrier’s neck.

Soren watched Gatrie throw a very limp Shinon over his shoulder, and waited for the inevitable complaints to begin. But to Soren’s surprise, Shinon had stopped being angry about the arrangement and was now playing along. He’d broken off arrow heads and attached the shafts to his back along with a mess of fake blood. A crowd of young women gathered around him and Gatrie, giggling and telling them how clever the joke was.

Boyd, meanwhile, was trying to psyche up Rhys by shouting about the power of teamwork and how they both needed to visualize the finish line in their minds. Rhys seemed nervous. “If you say so,” was all he said.

Ike was serious about the competition too, but not as much as Boyd. He and Soren chose to do the piggy-back position, agreeing it would be the most well-balanced. “Be sure to pace yourself,” Soren advised.

When it was almost time to start, he hopped onto Ike’s back, and as he stood up, testing Soren’s weight, he immediately chuckled. “Maybe not as light as a heron princess, but you sure are close.”

“Oh, shut up,” Soren sighed, grasping his own elbows and trying to keep his arms on the top of Ike’s chest rather than against his neck so not to choke him.

Ike looped his arms under Soren’s knees. “This’s going to be easy,” he said encouragingly.

“Just focus on running,” was Soren’s reply, while in his mind he berated himself: _Don’t enjoy this. Don’t enjoy this. Do not enjoy this._ He could smell the back of Ike’s head, and he tried to distract himself by looking at the other competitors. Those on either side were staring at them with a mixture of envy and frustration. Perhaps it seemed Ike was cheating by carrying some kid instead of a fellow competitor.

A moment later, the gong clanged, announcing that the carriers should start running and the wards should no longer touch the ground.

This race seemed to contain more shoving, attempts at tripping, and men trying to cut one another off than the regular footrace. But the judges rarely scolded anyone, and no one was disqualified or penalized. Soren wondered if he just hadn’t noticed the same shenanigans during the footrace because he hadn’t been targeted. Now he was seeing the competition from Ike’s perspective. He was someone the other competitors feared, so they did their best to make him fall down or fall behind.

But Ike was quick and wary, and he had Soren watching his blind spots and warning of oncoming attacks. Neither of them hit the dirt, and they managed to stay near the front of the pack throughout the race. Boyd was right beside them, with Rhys wincing and saying “ _Ow, ow, ow,_ ” every time Boyd jostled him.

When they finally crossed the finish line, Ike and Boyd raised their arms victoriously, and Soren and Rhys dropped to their feet. He was glad to be on solid ground again but also felt a sharp pang, immediately missing the physical contact he’d shared with Ike. Even though he hadn’t exerted himself beyond merely holding himself in place, he did feel breathless, and Ike’s scent still lingered in his head. It was an oddly comforting and familiar smell, which brought back memories of their time shared in a small Crimean town. He wondered how someone’s hair could smell the same after so many years.

“Great job, Soren!” Ike congratulated him. “We made a good team.”

“I don’t feel I did anything,” Soren replied, “But if I was not too much of a burden, that is enough.”

Ike rolled his eyes as if this had been some sort of joke. “Empty your pockets next time though,” he laughed, “You were stabbing me in the back the whole time.” Clapping him on the shoulder, he turned his attention to the incoming runners.

“With any luck, there will never be a next time,” Soren replied coolly despite blushing red hot. Ike wasn’t looking at him, so hopefully he didn’t notice.

Soren didn’t care to wait for Gatrie and Shinon, but he was pinned between Ike and Boyd. Since he couldn’t easily slip away, he resigned himself to being a spectator. The crowd of girls who’d gathered around Gatrie and Shinon at the start of the race had moved here, and he could hear them broadcasting the pair’s approach with increasingly frequent bouts of giggles. When they finally crossed the finish line, Gatrie roared, “Your mighty hunter has returned!” He slung Shinon into their awaiting arms, saying, “And I’ve got dinner.” The girls laughed and immediately fell upon Gatrie in addition to hugging and hanging off of Shinon’s arms, who was smiling smugly in their midst.

Soren couldn’t stand to watch any more of this idiocy and managed to sneak away while Ike, Boyd, and Rhys attempted to get the pair’s attention and convey their congratulations.

Although Soren was probably more exhausted now than he had been since the end of the war, he knew the day wasn’t yet over for him. There was only a little daylight remaining to practice with Mia before the accuracy competitions tomorrow. He found her sucking down noodles with some new friends and dragged her away, much to her disappointment. “You’re still on about that?” she grumbled.

“I performed well enough today to advance,” Soren answered.

“That’s not what I meant.” She crossed her arms. “Why do you want to win anyway?”

“I have no delusions about actually winning this thing,” he scoffed. “But I decided to participate, and when I set my mind to something-”

“You weren’t interested at all before,” she cut him off.

“Mia, you made a deal,” Soren reminded, and that was the last of her protestations.

When they were safely concealed in the woods, Mia took turns practicing by herself and correcting Soren’s form. Sometimes she would stand in different parts of the clearing, watching from various angles to be sure the throw and spell were cast seamlessly. If anyone noticed the knife changing velocity or direction, they’d cry foul. Soren would be searched, the page of spells would be discovered, and he would face the greatest humiliation of his life in the grasp of the stockades.

When the sun had set and there was just a glow of daylight left, Mia sighed and said, “Well, it looks pretty spot-on to me. Even better than I can throw.”

Soren nodded to show he agreed. “I will not be aiming for the bullseye,” he said. “I don’t want to call too much attention to myself.”

“Ever practical.” Mia wrenched a blade from the target they’d carved into a tree.

They returned to camp together, and when they arrived, they found a paper pinned to one of the tents and Ike, Titania, Rhys, and Mist talking in hushed tones. On closer inspection, Soren noticed various items, bits of refuse, and even shirts, shoes, and pieces of armor strewn about the ground and spilling out of the tents.

“What the hell happened here?” Mia asked, noticing the same. She plunged the javelin she’d borrowed from Oscar into the ground, and no one asked why she had it.

“See for yourself,” Ike said grumpily, standing out of the way so they could read the sign. “Someone reported us for having ‘illicit materials’, so we had to let guards search our things.”

“Obviously they found nothing condemnable,” Titania added, while Soren skimmed the text. His gaze was drawn to where his and Rhys’s names and numbers were written.

“Except Rhys’s light tome,” he interjected, “and my wind tome.” He wondered if he could have avoided this inconvenience if he’d taken his whole tome with him today instead of just a few pages.

“Well, _possessing_ such items are not against the rules,” Titania countered optimistically, “You’ve merely been served a citation. We must keep this silly paper on display, and you and Rhys will be searched more thoroughly before tomorrow’s events. That is all.”

“It is a nuisance,” Soren replied dryly, refusing to betray the fact that this would interfere with his plans.

“That’s assuming we make it to tomorrow,” Rhys added. “I don’t think I did well enough at all.”

Ike clapped him on the back. “You sell yourself short, Rhys,” he said. “You did fine.” But his words of encouragement lacked any real heart, and he was clearly still angry about this whole thing. “Anyway, we should discuss this with the others. I’ve got a feeling the same people who reported us were the ones who sabotaged Oscar’s saddle. It might be our friends from last night.”

“Those bullies,” Mist pouted.

“Has anyone else reported altercations with fellow competitors?” Titania asked Ike.

Ike shook his head.

Soren decided not to mention the fact that his clothes had ended up in a tree this morning. He didn’t know whether it was related. Regardless, he set about picking up his things (which were now intermixed with everyone else’s) and started planning how he could use magic tomorrow without the guards noticing a page of spells on his person. 

The mercenaries discussed the sabotage that evening, but no one had anything further to report. They all had a hard time focusing on the matter anyway, because Shinon had brought a young woman into the camp to join them for dinner. The couple spent the twilight hours flirting, kissing, and making eyes at each other for everyone else to see. Soren wondered what made this woman special, since Shinon usually kept this part of his life separate from the rest of the mercenaries.

That night, the archer pitched a separate tent and moved all of his belongings into it, so he and the woman could have privacy. He hadn’t paid for a permit to erect another tent, but Soren doubted he would get caught and fined. Apparently the other mercenaries thought the same, because no one advised against it. They were probably just grateful he and the woman wouldn’t be sharing the tent with the rest of them—Soren certainly was. 

That night, Soren and the rest of the mercenaries were awoken by a terrified, high-pitched scream. Ike was the first one out of the tent, with the everyone else climbing over each other to get out and see what was happening. Soren was at the back of the group, his mind suddenly awake and alert. He wasn’t immune to the panic surrounding him.

Outside, he saw Titania launching herself out of the other tent, with Mist and Mia hot on her heels. Mist had her Heal staff in hand, as if instinct told her she’d need it. Everyone’s hair was a mess, they wore only wrinkled sleep shirts or long underwear, and their faces were confused and vacant from sleep. They all converged on Shinon’s tent, and Soren managed to tuck himself under the open tent flap, where he could see what was happening. Ike had just tackled Shinon off his new girlfriend, but Shinon’s fingers wouldn’t let go of her throat so she just came tumbling along with them.

“What the blazes are you doing, bud!” Gatrie fell to his knees to help pull Shinon’s hands away while Titania and Oscar held the girl’s shoulders.

Titania found her pulse. “She’s alive.” At her words, the young woman’s eyes fluttered.

Meanwhile Ike and Shinon were wrestling, trying to restrain each other’s arms. Ike was on top and landed a blow on Shinon’s jaw. “Stop it!” Ike ordered, but Shinon just struggled further, managing hit Ike above the eye. An instant later, Ike returned the punch exactly.

“The bitch broke my bow!” Shinon managed to spit, and Ike froze. Shinon lurched and knocked Ike off of him, but Gatrie and Oscar were now between him and the woman protectively tucked under Titania’s arm.

The tent was quite full, even with Soren just kneeling in the doorway. Boyd and Mia were behind him telling people outside that there was no emergency and that they should return to their bedrolls. At least a dozen had emerged at the sound of the scream. Meanwhile, Rhys, Rolf, and Mist were all trying to peek inside.

“What happened?” Ike demanded, righting himself.

Soren understood the situation and could have answered, but he let Shinon tell his story. On the ground beside his bedroll was his prized bow: one he’d crafted himself and named ‘Silencer’. The string was cut, and the wood fractured. A knife lay on the ground beside it.

“I woke up and she was going through my things. She hurt my bow,” Shinon growled furiously.

Ike assessed the damage. “You have other bows and strings, don’t you?” he asked.

“That’s not the point.” Shinon seemed to be calculating the odds of getting past Gatrie and throttling the woman again. She looked terrified. “It was my best one, and the string was worn in just like I like it.”

“That’s no excuse to kill anyone!” Ike countered.

For the first time, an emotion other than thirst for revenge flashed on Shinon’s face, and it may have resembled regret.

“He wasn’t trying to kill her,” Soren surprised himself by speaking on Shinon’s behalf. “There is a knife right there and he’s a trained mercenary; if he wanted her dead, she’d be dead.”

Shinon seemed surprised Soren was vouching for him. “Yeah,” he finally replied. “What the pipsqueak said.”

Ike sighed and gingerly touched his bruised eyebrow while he edged around Shinon toward the woman. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he asked, and Soren was glad he didn’t appear taken in by her scared little mouse act.

“I-I-I d-didn’t,” she began to sputter, but Ike cut her off:

“You did,” he said. “Get this straight: I trust Shinon a lot more than I do you. And that’s saying something. Now are you one of the ones who’s been trying to sabotage us all day?”

She shook her head furiously. “It was Bordo, he made me do it!”

“What else has Bordo been up to?” Ike pushed.

She began shaking. “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“Is he acting alone?” She made a pained expression, and Ike asked again, more forcefully: “Is he acting alone?”

“N-no,” she answered. “He has his team, and then, well, other competitors. He’s p-popular here. I know him from- from previous years. I mean, i-it’s not just him. Everyone w-wants you gone. You’re not even from Begnion.” She covered her own mouth, and tears welled in her eyes.

“Stop crying. We’re not going to hurt you.” Ike promised.

Titania righted the girl so she was sitting on her own. She put her hands on her thighs. Shinon kicked up one knee and leaned against it. He was glaring at her, but he no longer seemed to want to attack her. As a sign of trust, Oscar and Gatrie moved back.

“Mist,” Ike called toward the tent flap, “Can you heal the bruises on her neck?”

Mist squeezed by Soren, traded places with Oscar who ducked out of the tent. Once outside he started explaining the situation in whispers, but Soren suspected they’d heard everything and knew well enough what was going on. Tent walls were not thick.

“This way she won’t have proof Shinon did anything,” Ike said as Mist worked. “He can’t get into trouble.”

“Why would I get into trouble?” Shinon pouted.

“Because those working against us would do anything to have us thrown out of the games and removed from Telgam City,” Soren replied. “We mustn’t give them a reason.” He glanced at Ike, who nodded in agreement.

“We can’t fight this,” Ike said, sounding tired. “We’ve just got to stick it out and be more careful from now on.” He turned his attention to the woman. “You won’t help Bordo anymore, and you won’t report Shinon for hurting you.” It wasn’t a request.

She gave a burst of trembling nods, but Soren wasn’t convinced. “Unfortunately,” he said, addressing Ike. “Mist’s healing will be of little value. Either she will return to Bordo of her own will or he will find her and demand to know what happened. When he learns the truth, he will strangle her himself and blame it on Shinon. There are many who heard her scream tonight. We will be powerless against the truth.”

“I w-won’t bring any charges against you,” the woman ensured, glancing around at everyone’s faces. “I promise.”

Soren shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you promise, Bordo will see you as a liability. He will crush your larynx and kill you.” The woman touched her neck with both her hands, the fear of her attack still fresh in her eyes. “Unless, of course, you leave town tonight. Stay away until the games are over…perhaps longer.” Soren finished flippantly, “That may save you.”

She nodded once, more solemnly this time, and Soren believed her.

“Alright, get out of here,” Ike gestured at the door. “Do as Soren says, and be safe.” His eyes were compassionate now.

The girl picked herself up, still shaking, and walked out of the tent. Every step was hesitant, as if she suspected a trap, but once she was clear of their campsite, she picked up her feet and started running. Ike and the others emerged from the tent and watched her disappear.

Ike yawned again. “What a night.”

“Let me heal you both before going back to bed,” Mist offered, stepping up to him and Shinon. “That won’t be any fun to sleep on.”

Ike settled down for Mist’s ministrations, and Shinon set about taking down the extra tent while he waited his turn. “You okay, buddy?” Gatrie whispered, but Shinon shrugged off his hand. His pride had been injured more than anything tonight.

Mia stretched and returned to the smaller tent, and Titania was right behind her saying, “See you all in the morning.”

Soren entered the men’s tent and found Oscar and Rolf already inside. Boyd crawled in behind Soren, and Rhys came next. Then Gatrie entered, and finally Shinon and Ike came in together. Soren had long since laid his head on his arm, but he was still awake and acutely aware of Ike tiptoeing over to him and crouching down in the dark. “Good thinking about getting her out of town,” his whispered. “But you don’t actually think she was in any danger, right?”

“I do not care one way or another about any danger she may be in,” Soren answered. “My concern was the reputation of the company.”

“Of course it was,” Ike sighed. “Good night.” With that, he navigated back to his own bedroll in the dark.

Before the events of the previous night, all of the mercenaries had discovered that they’d moved on to the events of the second day (even Rhys, who’d just narrowly scraped by). So they all woke up early the next morning, excited for the new day of challenges. Before breakfast was served, however, Soren pulled Mia aside.

“Bad luck about that citation,” Mia commiserated. “But you’re probably better off. At least now there’s no way you can get caught.”

Soren glanced sidelong at her while they walked. This was too dangerous a conversation to be had in one place and risk being overheard. “I have no intention of retiring my efforts,” he eventually replied.

Mia frowned as if she’d worried that was the case. “That why you asked me for this little stroll? You want me to do something.”

“You will carry the page in for me.”

“No.” She shook her head energetically. “No way. In the arena with all those people watching? There’s absolutely no way I’ll be able to pass it to you without being seen, and then we’ll both be caught!”

“Lower your voice,” Soren hissed, “and calm down. All you’ll have to do is carry it discreetly on your person. I do not need to be in physical contact with the spell for it to work.”

Mia narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I just have to bring it in with me, that’s all?”

“If you can stand as near to me as possible when I throw, that would be preferable. But yes, that is all.”

“I’m still not sure about this. What if I get caught with it and they think I’m the one cheating?”

Soren raised an eyebrow. “You are already smuggling in two illegal pieces of equipment, what is one more?”

“Two pieces o-” Mia seemed confused at first but then covered her chest, laughing: “Soren!” she mock-scolded.

Soren didn’t react or reply. Having navigated in a circle back to the camp by now, he quickened his step toward the scrambled eggs being divided over the fire. Behind him, Mia kept laughing.

“Hey, you two working on your comedy routine?” Boyd called with a wave. “I gotta tell you, it needs work.”

Mia shook her head. “You didn’t hear the joke.”

She reached the fire, where Boyd and Gatrie kept pushing her to tell them what was so funny, but to her credit, Mia refused to reveal a thing. After all, outing Soren was as good as revealing her own subterfuge. 

The first event of the day was the javelin-throwing contest, and Soren walked to the arena with Gatrie, Shinon, Oscar, and Rhys. Ike, Titania, Rolf, and Mist would come spectate after cleaning up breakfast, and Boyd had elected to guard the campsite and work on his latest hobby: whittling. He was so bad at it, Soren had little hope an hour or two of practice would make any difference. Mia was meant to be off training children in the way of the sword, but Soren knew she was dressed as Percival somewhere nearby.

As they’d been forewarned, Soren and Rhys were both flagged by the guards and patted down all over before being admitted to the arena. It was an embarrassing and uncomfortable violation, but at least when it was over, the mercenaries had the tact not to make jokes about it or risk his ire.

When it was his turn to throw, Soren stood at the mark and eyed the large round target. The javelin still felt heavy and awkward in his hand, but he recalled his lessons from Oscar and worked through the motions he’d practiced with Mia. He had already located her in the crowd of competitors waiting their turn, and as promised, she’d pushed to the front to be as close as possible without overstepping the boundaries. That being said, she was still fifteen feet away.

It would not be easy. In fact, accessing the spell at this distance was sure to hurt. But Soren had no choice but to proceed. He began murmuring the familiar words under his breath as soon as the announcer said, “Ready!”

“*Spirits of wind, slash*-”

“Set!”

“-*the flesh before me*!”

“Launch!”

Soren released the javelin in time with the end of the incantation, and the winds leapt to life, carrying the silly stick like a boat on a river of air. In the milliseconds that it was flying, every fragment of his attention was focused on containing the winds so the grass would not wave, maintaining speed and direction, and dulling the spell so it wouldn’t tear the javelin apart or shred the target.

When the spear embedded itself in the intended position in the upper left of the circle, he could hardly believe it. For a moment, he let a sense of pride wash over him—but then the headache hit. He couldn’t help but grimace as the pain shot through his head. The sunlight became piercing and the applause of the crowd deafening.

The throwers on either side of him reached for their second javelins. Biting his cheek and pushing through the throbbing in his head, Soren repeated the process two more times, but on the third, he released the spell early and let the momentum drop the javelin where it may, which turned out to be the very bottom of the target (but still technically on the board).

He managed to walk out of the arena, although he winced at the sunlight reflecting off a woman’s earrings, a man’s belt buckle, and so on. He tried to numb his ears to the innumerable voices chattering around him, but he was aware of some mercenaries congratulating and patting him on the back as he passed. He heard Ike say, “Hey are you okay? You don’t look so good.”

Soren shook his head even though it made the world spin. “I’m fine.”

Back at the campsite, he rested in the relatively cool, dark tent with a damp cloth over his eyes. Boyd was outside working on his whittling and swapping greetings with anyone who passed by. Soren wished he would be silent. Not only was his vision and hearing overloaded, but his sense of smell had suddenly become more acute as well. He could smell Boyd’s sweat from here, and it was nauseating. On the other hand, he realized he could be imagining it, or it could be that Boyd had left a rather sordid pair of underpants somewhere within the tent. He didn’t know, and he didn’t want to know. He just needed the pain to pass in time to subject himself to it again this afternoon.

“You didn’t eat or drink anything strange?” Ike asked later, when he returned from the ax-throwing competition. “No one gave you anything?”

Soren had recovered enough to give him a patronizing glare. “I am not a small child who is liable to accept sweets from a stranger.”

“But I’m worried this is somehow that guy Bordo and his crew messing with us again,” Ike replied, his concern unabated. “I mean, you hardly ever get sick!”

“He’s not sick,” Shinon sneered. He had his bow and quiver over his shoulder and was about to set out for the archery competition. “He’s just pretending so he can wheedle his way out of the games before he gets booted out. He must be embarrassed by how bad he did this morning.”

“Soren actually did rather well this morning,” Oscar cut in. Turning to Soren, he added, “You must have been practicing.”

Soren turned his glare on the paladin. “Well, Mia and I weren’t exactly going on a date,” he snapped. “What did you think we were doing?”

Oscar raised his hands in appeasement and then turned his attention to where Boyd was struggling to scrape some horse manure from the bottom of his boot. “Boyd, are you ready yet? You three should get going if you don’t want to be late.”

“I ain’t waiting for you,” Shinon snarled.

“Coming, coming!” Boyd called, giving up on the boot. He, Shinon, and Ike headed off to the archery range, although Ike spared a backward glance as if still worried about Soren’s health. If he’d been feeling better, he might have had the patience to feel touched by his concern. But as it was, he did not. He crawled back into the tent to get more rest before the last event of the day.

His headache had decreased to a dull throb by the time the knife-throwing competition rolled around, but Soren wasn’t optimistic about having to do the trick another three times.

Rhys was standing beside him, looking extremely dejected. “Why do I even bother?” he muttered to himself. “I performed so badly with the javelin this morning, there’s no way I can make up for it.” Some bystander patted him on the back and offered sympathetic words, which was just as well for Soren, who was never going to give Rhys the consolation he was asking for. Mia was nearby as well, fiddling with the brim of her hat.

There were not many competitors assembled here, because archery had been by far the most popular event of the day and knife-throwing the least popular. This meant there were fewer spectators and fewer eyes to notice foul play if he made a mistake.

Rhys was in the first group, and as predicted, he failed miserably. Mia (or rather, Percival) was in the second group, and she performed well enough given the fact that knife-throwing had never been more than a hobby to her. Soren was in the third group, and as before, there was between fifteen and twenty feet of space between him and the precious page of spells on Mia’s person. Again, Soren waited for the first consonant to leave the announcer’s lips: “Ready!”

“*Spirits of wind, slash*-”

“Set!”

“-*the flesh before me*!”

“Throw!”

As before, Soren focused on containing and directing the winds. He needed complete control and concentration for just a fraction of a second. The javelin had been easier to hold up due to the surface area along the shaft, but it had been more difficult to maintain a natural appearance. The knife, on the other hand, was harder to keep within the wind’s control, but appearance was less important.

The blade hit its strategically selected mark on the target, and this time Soren was prepared for the wave of pain and nausea that swept through his head and the back of his throat. He braced himself even while reaching for the second knife.

“Go, Soren!” Mia whispered-yelled from the sideline, and Soren gave her a withering glare. As Percival, she shouldn’t reveal the fact that she knew him. If the judge suspected cheating and thought they were connected, he could frisk her and discover both their secrets.

But then Soren realized he shouldn’t have heard Mia cheering him on. A beorc wouldn’t have heard her voice among the others. He willed himself to calm down. He was usually good at filtering the daily barrage of sound and only responding to that which he would not be suspicious to overhear. But his headache was making him careless.

Taking a steadying breath, he threw the second knife, whispering the spell almost inaudibly and trying to move his mouth as little as possible. The pain in his head reached a crescendo.

Finally it was time for the third throw, and dots were floating in his vision. Soren screwed up his eyes and repeated the coordinated release of spell and blade for a final time. His posture and angle were off, but he hoped no one would notice that the trajectory of his projectile was incongruous with his improper form.

It was done, and the ache now stretched down Soren’s neck into his shoulders and the top of his arms. Tight waves of pain pulsed through the base of his jaw, and even his teeth hurt.

“Hey, were you whispering something, little guy?” asked the man who’d been throwing on his left. “You don’t look so good. Do you need something?”

Soren detested being called something as demeaning as ‘little guy’, but he knew he should remain calm. “Just a prayer,” he lied. “I am not feeling well today, so I hoped Ashera would make up for what I lack.” It was some nonsense Rhys might have said, and it seemed to fool this man. “If you’ll excuse me.” Soren walked past him, intent on leaving the arena before he passed out and made a scene.


	27. CHAPTER 58: SABOTAGE

Soren made it as far as the base of the hill before stumbling and collapsing on the ground. He was not yet unconscious, and he fought to regain control of his limbs and his senses so he could stand and continue walking. But he merely fell again.

To his surprise, someone caught him the second time. “What’s going on with you?” Mia’s voice hissed.

Soren couldn’t form the words to answer, but he shuffled along with an arm around her neck for support. He detested this weakness, but he was in too much pain for it to really bother him.

When they stopped again, they were somewhere relatively dark. Mia gave him a canteen of water and began changing out of her disguise into her regular clothes. The water helped wake him up, and he realized they were in a small tent.

“There, you’ve got a little color back,” Mia observed, stuffing Percival’s clothes into a canvas bag. “Or, at least your eyes aren’t glassed over. What happened?” 

“A certain amount of strain is involved to work a spell at that distance,” Soren managed to answer, speaking slowly to be sure he didn’t slur his words.

“You knew this would happen and wanted to cheat anyway? You’re nuts.” She shook her head disapprovingly. “Can you stand?”

In answer, Soren stood and took the two steps necessary to exit the tent. But once they were outside, Mia lent him her arm again, and he didn’t refuse it.

“I don’t get it, why go to these lengths?”

“It was supposed to be ‘fun’,” Soren answered honestly. “Ike suggested I try it.”

“The Boss told you to cheat?” she said incredulously.

“Of course not,” Soren quickly replied. “That was my idea.”

Mia shook her head as if she didn’t understand. “Are you going to do this tomorrow too, for the distance competitions?”

Soren shrugged. “That is currently the plan.”

They didn’t speak again until they reached the campsite. Ike jumped up at the sight of them. “There you are! We were getting worried when you disappeared.”

Soren pulled his weight off Mia but let her speak for him. “Soren wasn’t feeling well, so I took him somewhere to puke,” she lied.

“So you are sick!” Ike exclaimed, closing the distance between them. “You need to lie down. Now. That’s an order.”

Ike’s hands clamped down on his arm and the side of his neck. Mist seized him from the other side, grasping his opposite arm and his forehead to measure his temperature. It was only due to their support that he realized he probably would have fallen again only a few steps after letting go of Mia.

The siblings walked him to the tent, and Soren didn’t push them away. He went without a word—unable to argue or reclaim any dignity in this situation. He missed Ike’s touch when it was gone, but he couldn’t ask for him to stay either.

The pain followed him in his sleep, which was intermittent and not quite restful, but eventually the worst of it passed. Sometime in the night, he fell into oblivion.

That morning, the mercenaries feasted on a rich, crumbly brown bread Oscar had baked the day before, as well as two dozen slabs of bacon Gatrie had purchased from a butcher in the city. Soren was feeling better, so he joined the others and ate his fill.

However, he couldn’t help but notice Mia’s and Ike’s flickering glances. Mia looked at Ike as often as she looked at Soren, and the same was true for Ike looking at her. Their faces weren’t filled with worry as they’d been before; worry was only part of it now.

Soren suspected he knew what had happened, so he wasn’t surprised when Ike called him for a private meeting as soon as the meal was finished. He led him out of the campgrounds all the way to the river, which was turbulent and murky from last night’s rainfall.

“What did Mia tell you?” Soren asked when Ike’s feet came to a stop.

“Why do you think she told me anything?”

“General observation,” he answered with a wave of his hand.

Ike was frowning when he continued. “Well, yeah, she told me you made yourself sick cheating, and that she helped you.” His frown faded for a moment. “She also told me she’s been competing under an alias.”

“She’s loyal, but no good at artifice,” Soren sighed.

“Neither of you were at your best.” Ike frowned. “Everyone knew something was up.”

“Does everyone know the truth now?” He would be surprised if that were the case; they’d all been acting normally at breakfast.

Ike shook his head. “Just me.”

“If you suspected something, why didn’t you intervene?”

He turned away from the river to face him. “Because I didn’t really care what it was. I was just glad to see you sharing a secret with someone other than me.”

It was not the response Soren was expecting, and it momentarily stunned him. “What- What do you mean by that?”

Ike pushed back his hair with one hand, only to have it flop back into place again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes it’s…hard, knowing I’m the only person you trust.”

Soren felt his skin crawl. “I’m sorry I am a burden. I should never have-”

“Stop right there,” Ike cut him off, “Don’t you dare say it!” There was a spark of anger in his fierce blue eyes. “I told you not to take it the wrong way. I am trying to tell you to open up to other people _more_ , not to me _less._ Damn it, Soren, you can’t go backward!”

“I know that,” he said almost inaudibly. Sometimes he didn’t know how to respond to Ike when he was like this. The young commander cared about the mental and emotional states of everyone under his charge. It wasn’t a burden he needed to take on, but Ike chose to anyway. Soren had to agree it did sound incredibly heavy.

“You have friends, but you refuse to accept them,” Ike continued. “Yet here you were helping Mia and letting her help you. You were finally treating one of the others like a fr-”

“She was an asset,” Soren cut in, “and a mere quid pro quo arrangement can hardly be considered revelatory.”

“How can someone as smart as you lie to yourself?” Ike narrowed his eyes as if he truly didn’t understand. “Shouldn’t you be able to see through it?”

Soren considered how to reply. When he did, he just said, “This is not the lecture I was expecting. Aren’t you supposed to be chastising me for cheating?”

Ike barked a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t like the cheating and I don’t think you need to do it to enjoy the games, but I could have gotten over that. What I can’t get over is you hurting yourself. I’ve forbidden Mia from helping you anymore.”

“Mia and I do not have the same events today,” Soren answered calmly. “I am going to slip the page of spells into Shinon’s boot.”

Ike stared at him in bewilderment.

“A joke.” Soren gave a small smile as a peace offering. “That _was_ the plan, but there was little chance of it succeeding. Regardless, if you order me to stop, I will stop.”

“That’s it?” Ike eyed him cautiously.

“That is it.” Soren nodded. “To be honest, it wasn’t any fun anyway. Too painful.”

Ike sighed in obvious relief. He turned back to the rushing water as if he found the energy invigorating. “You know the games aren’t really measuring anything, right? They aren’t tests, they’re games. Losing is half the fun.”

Soren cocked his head at such foolishness. “Tell that to Rhys,” he said. “The idiot lost thirty gold and has nothing but embarrassment to show for it.”

Ike turned back to him in surprise. “Rhys has been having a blast.”

“He’s been shy and uncomfortable, performing poorly, and the butt of many jokes these past three days,” Soren reported.

“You weren’t paying attention.” Ike shook his head. “Rhys was laughing, in his own little way. He might be shy—and half of everything out of his mouth might be self-deprecating—but I know he enjoyed participating with the rest of us, because he told me he did. The thing is, everyone likes to be in the spotlight once in a while. Even people like Rhys like the attention of a friend at the finish line or in the crowd cheering you on… I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

Reconsidering the events of the past three days, Soren had to admit there was some truth to what he said. “I do see it,” he finally admitted. “I just…never thought it was for me.”

Ike smiled, and there was compassion deep in the tiny crinkles around his eyes. “The mercenaries are your family. Just _be_ here with us. Stop thinking about the next objective. _Fun_ isn’t an objective.”

Soren furrowed his brow. “It is my job to always be thinking ahead and anticipating our next move.”

Ike shook his head. “We’re not at war anymore, Soren. We’re just playing some games.”

The first event of the day was a simple (and minimally popular) stone toss. The river stones they were using were more or less ovular and ranged in size and weight. Competitors had five minutes to choose the stones they intended to throw and mark them with their color.

Soren chose almost arbitrarily, but his hand couldn’t help but stray to those he judged to be the most aerodynamic. The color he was assigned was light blue. When it was time to begin, the first round of competitors stepped up to throw their stones in under-hand fashion as far as they could. Soren felt silly, but it was a relief not to have to worry about using magic in coordination with the toss. He just had to chuck the stupid stone. There was no technique, no strategy.

When all the stones littered the ground, judges and their aides set about measuring, recording, and averaging the distances. The competitors could do no more, so they exchanged places with the next group. Soren returned to Ike’s side. “Well, that went poorly.”

“That’s unfortunate.” Ike drew a disappointed face. “Pebble projection is a valuable skill. I’m sorry to see you just don’t have it.”

Soren shrugged, saying, “It is more difficult than you would think,” and Ike cracked a smile.

The stone toss was a rather anticlimactic start to what was actually considered the most nerve-wracking day of the games. The fourth day was called ‘The Great Culling’ by many of the competitors and bettors alike. This evening was when the highest percentage of lowest ranked members would be removed from the standings. For those anywhere near the brink, today was the day to perform well. 

After the stone toss was a rock throw, in which men heaved boulders as far as they could. Soren watched Gatrie and Boyd each trying to get a spin or roll on their throws so that the rocks would tumble farther. Oscar, meanwhile, didn’t seem to understand the technique.

In the early afternoon was the caber toss, in which men launched large wooden poles as far as they could. Ike was one of the competitors in this event, and every mercenary who wasn’t competing came to cheer him on. It was a bizarre sport to observe, but Ike had clearly been practicing and handled himself well.

Finally it was time for the discus throw, which Soren had selected because it had seemed at least more manageable than the rock or caber contests. The discs they would be flinging resembled heavy plates, and Soren knew none of the mercenaries had ever attempted to throw anything like this before. However, Ike and Oscar had each been receiving lessons from one of their fellow competitors—someone who didn’t care if they were Crimean or Begnion. And shortly before the event, they each showed Soren and Shinon the basics of how to arc their arms and bodies and when to release the disc.

This brief tutorial did little to help Soren, who managed to throw the silly disc at almost a ninety-degree angle from his intended course. With that, he knew he would be out of the games—and he found he didn’t care at all. He returned to the mercenaries who teased him for how horribly he’d failed. But Soren didn’t mind; their mockery was oddly comforting.

It was during this bout of teasing that Soren heard a commotion on the other side of the field. “I knew it!” someone was saying, in a loud, self-important way. “He moves like a woman!”

“What does that even mean?” came the gruff reply. Soren turned toward the voices, and the other mercenaries followed his gaze. Mia was standing at the throwing line, with a man’s hand wrapped around her forearm while she pulled away. “Let go of me, you big lout!” she said in a deepened voice, but it was clear she wasn’t fooling anyone anymore. The man’s accusation had already drawn a crowd. The next round was supposed to begin soon, but the altercation disrupted the flow of bodies. Everyone was gravitating toward Mia, and that included the mercenaries. Ike jogged to the front.

“Let go of him!” he ordered (apparently having the instinct not to reveal her if he could help it). But at the same time, Mia jerked her arm up into the man’s nose, followed by a blow from her opposite fist.

“She broge by doze!” the man warbled, clutching his face.

“Is this guy bothering you?” Ike asked Mia as if they’d never met.

“Wait, I think Sam is onto something!” someone from the crowd called out.

“That is a woman!” declared someone else.

“Let me through!” ordered a judge, pushing his way past the competitors. “I will settle this. Please, let me through. I am a _judge!_ ” When he appeared in front of Mia, he squared his shoulders and stared at her intently. “Hat off.”

Mia sighed and removed her hat. “I’ll do you one better,” she said resignedly, in her regular voice. She stripped off the fake mustache, leaving a red mark on her upper lip. “Ta da!” She smiled, but her attempt at humor shriveled under the barrage of insults unleashed by the crowd.

Soren felt Ike’s muscles tense beside him and knew he was about to lunge into the center of the crowd. He grabbed his wrist to stop him. “This was her decision,” he whispered urgently. “We should leave, now, or risk appearing involved in some way.”

Ike gritted his teeth, but Mia merely raised her arms to nearest guard. “Take me away, copper,” she surrendered dramatically, and when she glanced to the side, she seemed to give Ike a small shake of her head.

Ike ripped his arm out of Soren’s grasp and gestured for the mercenaries to retreat. They disentangled themselves from the crowd and watched from a distance while Mia was led to the stockades at the center of the campgrounds.

Soren, Ike, and the others followed but held back. Another cheater was already serving his sentence in one of the wooden traps. A city guard was on duty protecting the prisoner, and he welcomed his comrade escorting Mia. Together they forced her to bend her neck and raise her arms into the wooden scaffolding.

Only when the second guard departed did Ike and the others walk forward to give Mia their condolences. Titania, however, had her arms crossed, saying, “You had to have known this would happen.” And Boyd was laughing, congratulating her on her nearly successful four-day subterfuge.

Mia was taking the turn of events fairly well. She joked along with the rest, but Soren could tell she was disappointed her fun had come to an end. If he was honest, seeing her like this made him grateful she’d betrayed him to Ike yesterday. Or else he might be in the same position.

At least one of the mercenaries remained with Mia through the rest of the afternoon and into the night, and even Soren found himself keeping her company when everyone marched to the stockades for a picnic dinner. The mercenaries sat as close to her as the guard would allow, and they chatted as easily as if her arms and neck weren’t encased in a wooden board. With a little wheedling, Mist even convinced the guard to let her feed Mia and hold a cup to her lips.

Everyone was in good spirits except for Titania, who was uncharacteristically quiet. She didn’t eat more than a slice of bread, and she kept her eyes on the setting sun as if tracking the time. She departed before the meal was over, bidding Mia a goodnight but declining to say where she was going.

When she was gone, Mia asked, “She can’t seriously be angry with me?”

“Oh, it’s not you,” Boyd answered with a snicker folded into his voice. This caught everyone’s attention, and even Soren was curious to see what gossip Boyd thought he had. “She’s nervous. It’s as simple as that,” he explained, raising his palms. “I hear she’s got a romantic rendezvous tonight.”

This drew a bark from Shinon, a chuckle from Gatrie, a couple confused glances from Mist and Rolf, and a long, affectionate ‘awww’ from Mia who then clicked her tongue, saying, “Then why didn’t she just say so?”

“Who exactly did you hear such a thing from?” Oscar asked suspiciously.

“Titania is never nervous,” Ike added, as if this were evidence to support Oscar’s doubt.

Boyd shrugged. “Some of the other competitors.”

“These competitors were talking about Titania?” Rhys asked as if he found the possibility offensive.

“’Course not,” Boyd shook his head. “They were talking about Valjon the Veteran, and rumor is ol’ Valjon’s got a hot date tonight with a tall, red-head woman. How many of those do we know?”

“Red-heads are not a dying breed, Boyd,” Rhys pouted.

“Wait, who the hell is Valjon?” Mia chimed in from her stockade block.

Boyd was about to answer, wearing a self-important grin, when Gatrie cut him off. “Wait, I’ve ‘eard of him—the one-legged guy, right? He was in my group for the rowing competition.”

“A fella with only one leg is competing, but I can’t?” Mia pouted.

“Oh, I saw him race with Oscar!” Rolf chimed in. “He was really good.”

Soren remembered seeing a few men with prosthetic limbs during the opening ceremonies, but he hadn’t expected any of them to make it this far. “Is this man still competing?” he asked curiously.

No one seemed to know the answer, but then Shinon spat in the dirt. “The gimp damn near outshot me yesterday,” he said, irritation thick in his voice. “So yeah, he’s still competing.”

“But that’s impossible!” Rolf chirruped. “You’re the best archer in all of Tellius.”

Shinon tossed his shoulders at the praise. “I said damn near. Of course he didn’t beat me. Those targets are so close, even you could have hit the bullseye, twerp.”

“Shinon’s ego aside,” Oscar sighed, “Weren’t we discussing Titania?”

“What she does with her free time is her business,” Ike declared, and that was the end of the discussion. The conversation moved on, and if Titania was truly meeting with this man, Soren could not know.

The Greil Mercenaries’ second-in-command had never shown romantic interest in anyone since Greil’s death, and Soren wondered what it meant if she was opening herself up now. Then again, he supposed the world was at peace again and everyone should be using this peace to make the most of their lives—everyone who could, anyway. Soren couldn’t think of anything he wanted in life that was actually attainable.

Titania arrived back at the campsite late in the night, but after registering her appearance with his Branded sense, Soren drifted back to sleep. In the morning, Boyd asked Titania directly if she’d been with Valjon. (Apparently he had a bet with Shinon at this point and something to prove.)

“As a matter of fact, I was,” Titania replied stiffly, “and that is none of your business.” Money exchanged hands, but no one dared push Titania for details.

Not long after this, Mia was released, and she seemed no worse for her night spent in the stockade block. She dressed in fresh clothes and scarfed down the porridge Oscar had made for breakfast, which was aromatic with cinnamon. Before she was done, however, a trio of guards stomped into their camp.

“Hey, no mustache here,” she said, pointing to her lip. “So unless bad table manners are against the rules now, I’m not going back to tha-”

“We are not here for you,” the one in front cut her off. “There’s been an anonymous tip that the competitors at this campsite are using performance-enhancing tonics in the games. We will now search the premises. Please stand aside.” The guards immediately set about tearing the tents apart, leaving the camp in worse disarray than last time. Finding nothing, they eventually went on their way without a word of apology.

“Well, I guess we can’t forget our fellow competitors have it out for us,” Ike noted. “Everyone be on your toes today.”

Boyd started laughing so hard that he bent double with a hand clamped to his side. “It’s-” He tried to catch his breath. “Today’s- Today’s balancing games, so we’re going to literally be on our toes!” No one seemed to think this was funny except for Boyd, but Ike was grinning in a way that indicated this unfortunate joke was intentional after all. 

Ike, Boyd, Shinon, Gatrie, and Oscar had all survived the culling and progressed to the fifth day of events, so they set out to their respective fields while the others stayed behind to clean up the campsite. “We’ll be right behind you!” Titania called with a wave.

Soren was surprised to find himself looking forward to being a spectator. Now that he wasn’t distracted by his own progress, he was curious how far Ike would go. Despite the risk of sabotage or of being beaten to a pulp in the final days, he wanted him to do well. He didn’t quite understand why, but he wanted everyone—even a bunch of strangers—to see how strong and talented Ike was.

The morning’s events consisted of two object-balancing games: one consisting of holding a ball on one’s knee and another holding a pole on one’s head. Ike, Shinon, and Boyd had signed up for the former, and Gatrie and Oscar for the latter. Apparently Valjon was also in the latter group, and Rolf (taking a page out of Boyd’s book) teased Titania when she elected to watch that event. She stared him down in response to the jab, and the fire in her eyes was enough to shut him up. To distance himself from her wrath, Rolf joined Soren, Mist, and Mia in the group that was going to see Ike and the others perform.

And ‘perform’ was the correct word to describe the event, because the line of men straining to balance large balls on their raised knees looked more like an array of circus performers than athletes. Even Ike looked silly, but he was smiling, and somehow that made the ridiculous exercise look fun.

Before noon was a water-based balancing event called log-rolling. It was the most popular of the day’s festivities, and an enormous crowd gathered around the banks of the pond, where the logs were bobbing on the calm water. Two people would stand on the log at a time, and without touching one another, they would try to avoid falling off. Ike, Gatrie, and Boyd had all signed up for this event, and each jumped into the cold water when it was their turn, apparently exciting to try their hand (or feet) at the task.

Gatrie lost his footing almost immediately, but both Ike and Boyd performed decently—each outlasting their first opponents with some fancy footwork. But this was a tournament-style event, and neither one continued past their next match-ups.

Each time they dragged themselves out of the water, shivering and with blue lips, Titania was waiting with a dry blanket. Soren was right beside her, and as he watched Ike’s drenched shorts cling to his hips and the cool water stream off his limbs, raising goosebumps in their wake, Soren felt goosebumps rise on his own skin.

After a quick lunch, the first event of the afternoon was another water-based one. This took place in a different cove of the pond, in which narrow wooden poles had been erected standing straight out of the water. Pegs on either side made a sort of ladder, and the object was to climb up and remain standing on one leg as long as possible. Soren had originally signed up for this event, and he was glad he’d failed out of the games before having to face the indignity.

The one-legged competitor Valjon had also signed up for this event, and when it was his turn, Soren got his first good look at the man who’d been the center of so much gossip since last night. He wasn’t wearing his prosthetic now, but he had no problem swimming or pulling himself up the pole with his arms alone.

He was in good shape, but his dark hair, beard, and chest were marked with uneven splashes of gray. He was scarred, possibly from battle, and Soren wondered if ‘the Veteran’ was an appropriate appellation after all.

He remained composed and balanced for a long time (obviously having had plenty of practice). People chanted his name in the crowd, and Soren realized he must have become something of a folk hero these past few days. When he finally lost his balance and fell into the water, the crowd cheered instead of offering a consolatory clap. When he swam to shore, a group of friends was waiting with a towel, a shirt, and his wooden leg.

“Aren’t you going to give him a good-job kiss?” Gatrie asked Titania, who glared in response. No one dared tease or test her further.

Later in the afternoon was the tight-rope walking competition, in which Shinon was the only mercenary to compete. He gamboled carelessly across the wire to the hisses of alarm rising from his fans. When he fell two thirds of the way across, he looked almost nonchalant dropping into the net. A collective gasp swept out of the crowd of girls, and they instantly ran to retrieve him. Gatrie was at the front of the pack. “You all right, bud?” he asked in alarm, but Shinon just scowled, clearly annoyed he was blocking his view of the attentive maidens.

Due to his subpar performance balancing a stick on his head and his complete inability to stand on a wet log, Gatrie was booted from the games that evening—to no one’s surprise. But ever a good sport, he insisted on treating the remaining competitors: Ike, Boyd, Shinon, and Oscar to dinner in town. Naturally, everyone insisted on joining. Rolf was ecstatic that both of his brothers had made it to the sixth day, and Soren elected to stay at the campsite if for no other reason than to avoid the teen’s mindless prattle.

The night was already cold, but there was ample firewood to be purchased at a premium from wily salespeople trundling along with donkey carts. Soren used some of the company’s funds to buy enough to last the night, and taking a peek into the mercenaries’ coffers made it clear they needed to start doing jobs again soon. Vacations like this were just too much of a drain on their savings. Since they were currently making their living as travelling sell-swords, they needed to be more cautious, always anticipating a dry spell. Then again, if one of the four remaining mercenaries managed to win the Telgam Games, the company would be set up well for months, if not years.

On second thought, however, Soren supposed the winner would have sole ownership of their reward. None would go to company expenses. Hypothetically, the winner could even buy their way out of their contract and leave the mercenary life for good. Either Oscar or Boyd might do that, not only for themselves but for their brothers. Shinon would do it in a heartbeat and probably buy himself a nice place in a city somewhere. But Ike would never leave the mercenaries, and he was too selfless to keep the pot for himself.

Sitting alone by the fire between the two tents, Soren found himself hoping Ike would win, and half-believing he actually had a chance.

It was late when everyone returned to the campsite with full stomachs and buzzed heads. They laughed around the fire until trickling off to bed, and Soren slept lightly listening to them. Perhaps it was because of this that he was roused sometime in the early hours of the morning, having sensed people on the other side of the canvas walls. They lingered, and Soren considered emerging from the tent to scare them off. But he was surrounded by sleeping mercenaries—including a serenely snoozing Ike—and he didn’t want to make a commotion. Before much longer the bodies moved away, and Soren drifted back to sleep.

When he woke in the morning, Mist was preparing breakfast and Rolf was stacking the remaining kindling. They waved sleepily, and Soren scanned their supplies to see if anything was missing. Although he supposed it could have been a dream or even a trick of his imagination, he couldn’t forget having sensed two beorc visitors last night.

Finding nothing amiss, Soren set about his normal routine while the rest of the mercenaries slowly woke up. Mist served them fried eggs over day-old biscuits and re-heated gravy. It was meant to be a hearty meal to fortify the day’s fighters, but she’d added too much salt not only to the eggs but also to the gravy, which had already been seasoned.

Gatrie choked on the first bite (albeit discreetly) and reached for the nearest water bladder. As soon as he unplugged the top, Soren’s nose was struck by a sharp scent. Watching Gatrie take a long sip, he felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

However, Gatrie didn’t seem to notice anything wrong and breathed a satisfied sigh. He was about to take another when Soren stopped him. “Give that to me,” he said, more forcefully than intended. With a confused glance, Gatrie complied.

Raising it to his nose, Soren took a whiff. The scent was definitely coming from the water, but Gatrie hadn’t notice. Afraid his ability to detect the smell was somehow due to being a Branded, he was afraid to call attention to it. But neither could he stand by and do nothing if the water was contaminated.

“You going to drink that or just look at it?” Gatrie asked, “’cause I could use another swig.”

“Did I use too much salt again?” Mist asked dejectedly.

“I think it tastes just fine!” Rolf assured, although Soren noticed he was eating with tiny bites, rather than his usual gusto.

“Did you fill these this morning, Rolf?” Soren asked him.

“Sure did, all of them!”

“And did you clean them first?”

Rolf frowned. “Well, I figured they were clean enough since-”

“That is irresponsible. They could be growing a fungus. I will clean and refill them.” He immediately stood and looped the other bladders and canteens over his arms.

Rolf looked crestfallen at the censure. “I cleaned them really good just the o-”

“Hey do you have to take all of them?” Gatrie moaned, cutting Rolf off. He glanced meaningfully down at Mist’s breakfast.

Rhys had just emerged from the tent to join them. “What’s going on?” he asked, glancing at Soren, who surely looked like some sort of mad water thief.

“Nothing,” Soren replied, knowing that any attempt to explain himself would only make things worse. He took the water away, and dumped the contents when he came to the rocks next to the river.

The water looked mostly clear, but some had a few greenish-brown flecks. Running his finger along the inner rims, he found half had been smeared with a foul-smelling mash. Soren was no chemist, but the scent reminded him of the venin some bandit clans used to coat their blades. In an open wound, it inhibited clotting and promoted infection. If ingested, Soren had heard that the same toxin could cause vomiting and diarrhea—but not death if the victim remained hydrated.

Assuming this was the same toxin, or some relative, Gatrie was in for a rough day, but he would probably live. If this was another attempt at sabotage by their competitors, the mercenaries had a right to know. This was an escalation, and future escalations should be anticipated and prevented. As he scraped out and scrubbed the water skins, Soren tried to think of a way to explain this to the others without drawing suspicion on himself.

When he returned to camp, he was greeted by the annoyed faces of the mercenaries who’d been forced to eat Mist’s cooking without a drop of water to sate them. Gatrie’s forehead was sweating visibly, and he was the first to seize the strap of a canteen off Soren’s arm. The rest quickly followed suit.

“What took you so long?” Boyd grumbled.

“I’m sorry,” Rolf chirped.

“Asshole,” Shinon hissed.

“I really am sorry,” Rolf said again, looking from Soren to the others and surely blaming himself for the situation.

“Really, was this necessary?” Titania said, clicking her dry tongue to the roof of her mouth a few times for good measure.

“It’s my eggs, isn’t it?” Mist said, glancing at the remnants. She seemed to be blaming herself as much as Rolf.

Soren ignored the comments. Catching Ike’s eye, he said, “A word, Ike?”

Ike nodded, and they strode away from camp. “What is it?” he asked when they were out of earshot of the others.

Despite the sensitive topic and the proximity of potential eavesdroppers, Soren felt comfortable enough speaking freely so long as they kept moving. “I believe someone snuck into our camp last night to pollute our drinking water.”

Ike cocked his head. “Rolf filled them this morning.”

“The poison was applied just within the opening. Judging by Gatrie’s reaction, it was virtually tasteless.”

“Wait, you saw it?”

“Believe it or not,” Soren replied, “taking the water away was not some sort of uncharacteristic prank.”

“You said Gatrie’s reaction? Are you telling me he’s been poisoned?”

“Yes, technically.”

Ike twisted on the spot and quickened his pace back to camp. “You should have started with that! Why drag me away?”

Soren was surprised by the anger in his friend’s voice. “I didn’t want to raise suspicion.”

“Of whom? Whatever coward did this?”

“Of myself,” Soren answered in a low hiss. “If I was beorc, I would not have detected the poison.”

This caused Ike to stop and face him. His expression was torn. “I will always keep your secret,” he said, “but maybe you should ask yourself if it’s worth your comrades’ lives.”

He started off again, and Soren could only mumble, “I am sure it was not a lethal dosage…”

When they returned to the campsite, Ike put his hands on his hips and announced: “Soren heard someone messing with our stuff last night. Turns out they were drugging our water.”

Mia (the only one currently drinking) spat out her mouthful in a panicked spurt.

“Don’t worry. It’s clean now. Gatrie is likely the only one affected.”

The big man looked green around the gills, and Ike’s words only served to make him greener. “I knew there was something musty-tasting about that water!” he whined.

“Then why did you drink it?” Soren asked in annoyance.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Gatrie returned angrily.

Soren had no answer for that.

“Rhys, do you have any antitoxins or maybe a panacea in your bag?” Ike asked the healer.

“I’ll check right away!”

“Sorry about this, Gatrie,” Ike turned to him. “I bet that water was meant for me, Boyd, Oscar, or Shinon. This has sabotage written all over it.”

“Ah, it’s alright, Boss. I don’t mind taking one for the team. But you’ve got to kick some serious butt today, ya hear?” Despite his words, Gatrie was clearly nervous for what was to come.

“Did you save any of the toxin, Soren?” Titania asked with arms crossed. “We may be able to track down its source.”

He shook his head. “An inexcusable oversight on my part, but it has all been washed away by now.”

“I’m so sorry.” Rolf was absolutely mortified. “This is all my fault. I should have noticed!”

“You did nothing wrong,” Oscar said, touching his brother’s shoulder. “Soren was wrong to blame you.” He looked pointedly at him, as if expecting an apology.

Oscar was usually easygoing, but he could be protective of his brothers (and especially of Rolf’s delicate feelings). Soren didn’t want to seed resentment, but he refused to be coerced into an apology. “Although he did not set the poison himself, Rolf could have been more vigilant. I stand by what I said.”

Oscar was about to reply, when Ike intervened: “Enough blaming each other! Check the rest of the supplies to be sure nothing else was tampered with. Oscar, Boyd, you two should be preparing for the first event.”

At his words, all grumbling came to an end and everyone found a task to do—including Soren. As he worked, he wondered if he was being selfish by prioritizing his own camouflage over the good of the company, and if so, whether or not that was wrong.


	28. CHAPTER 59: THE STRONGEST MAN

Gatrie and Rhys stayed at the basecamp while the rest went to watch Oscar and Boyd participate in the wrestling competition.

Since today’s theme was tag-team fights, each brother had been paired with a random participant. In each round, four men entered the ring and the match wouldn’t end until both opponents were taken down and held there simultaneously. At times messy and awkward, the matches were also undeniably interesting, especially when Oscar and Boyd tried to apply the combat and communication techniques they used in battle, now with complete strangers.

Each brother put up a good fight, and Boyd managed to win his match (apparently becoming fast-friends with his teammate in the process). But Oscar and his teammate lost theirs, earning only aching muscles and sprained joints.

At noon, Ike was the only one participating in the boxing event. He was matched with a muscle-headed idiot who only seemed concerned with how much he could get the crowd to cheer for him. But Ike more than made up for his lapses in attention and frequent overextensions.

Greil had taught his son to throw a punch as well as swing a sword, and Soren was glad to see that Ike hadn’t forgotten a thing. If anything, his style had only improved during the war, becoming augmented with the styles of his former comrades. When necessary, he could channel both Largo’s frenzy and Tauroneo’s poise, and he kept his legs moving as if he were sparring with Stefan, who always slashed at his feet to break his stance

Of course, Ike got knocked around his fair share, and Soren winced sympathetically each time he took a hit. But by the end of the match, Ike’s opponents were on their knees, panting and grimacing in pain. The judge counted them out and declared Ike and the muscle-head the winners. Ike offered his hand, but his teammate was too busy raising both fists and hooting at the crowd.

Giving up, Ike exited the ring to where his sister and the rest of the mercenaries were ready to tackle him to the ground with hugs, slaps on the back, and general carousing. Everyone knew this victory meant Ike would be proceeding to the final day of the competition.

The last event of the day was the stick fight in which Shinon had enrolled himself. Soren had seen him practicing a couple times over the past few days, and he’d supposed the wooden sticks weren’t radically different from when Shinon was forced to use his bow as a club in close combat. But after watching the first couple rounds, Soren could now see there was a considerable amount of skill and know-how involved in this kind of fight.

When it was finally Shinon’s turn, the mercenaries cheered him on (even Gatrie, who’d stumbled into the arena pale and sweat-streaked to support his friend). Rhys was helping to prop him up him with one shoulder, even though Gatrie dwarfed him.

Despite Gatrie’s dedication (and the chorus of girls lending their sopranos to his baritone), Shinon couldn’t outpace his opponents. His teammate clearly knew what he was doing—and Shinon hated to lose—so they both tried their hardest. But after ten minutes, both were shaking in the dust with painful-looking welts blooming on their arms and legs. The stick-fighting looked most dangerous by far, and Soren suddenly feared for Ike tomorrow.

Ike and Boyd were the only ones continuing to the final day, and Boyd was thrilled by the chance to defeat his commander in hand-to-hand combat. “If I win, Mist becomes my sister!” he kept saying. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. And I’ll be a much better role model.”

“How so?” Ike played along. Mist, meanwhile, was blushing angrily and sputtering about how they should stop talking about her like she wasn’t even there.

“Two words,” Boyd answered with a flick of his wrist. “Hair. Braiding.”

Titania snorted. “You’ve lost your mind.”

Ike took the bait. “What does that even mean?”

“You never do what she wants to do,” Boyd explained, “all the girly stuff. I’m way more in touch with my sensitive side, you know.”

“That’s a laugh,” Oscar muttered under his breath.

“Shut up both of you,” Mist fumed, at which Boyd laughed. 

Ike cocked his head. “Is that true, Mist?”

“Of course not!” She dragged her hands down her face. “Boyd is making stuff up again!” (This only made him laugh harder.)

Soren was spared any more of their banter, because they finally arrived at the restaurant where they would be celebrating Ike and Boyd’s step closer to victory (and Gatrie’s ability to stomach solid food again). Stars had emerged overhead, and the night was warmer than it had been all week.

They were filing into the little shop when Titania suddenly froze. Someone was jogging unevenly toward them, with an arm raised in greeting. Ike lingered in the doorway. “Titania?” he asked in concern.

Soren lingered as well, because he was curious to see how Titania would interact with Valjon in front of the rest of the mercenaries. Right now, she was standing as rigid as a board. 

“Captain,” he greeted her, which Soren thought was odd for a term of endearment.

“This is not a good time,” she returned.

Only then did Valjon notice the others. “General Ike!”

Ike looked at the man as if trying to recall his face. “Uh, I’m not a general anymore…”

Titania hung her head. “Commander, allow me to introduce Valjon. He fought with us in the Begnion regiment under Lieutenant Grey.”

Ike’s eyes widened in recognition. “Oh…”

Valjon rubbed the back of his head and smiled good-naturedly. “Don’t worry. I don’t blame you for not remembering me.”

“Valjon fought bravely in the battles of Delbray and Pinell,” Titania explained.

“I lost my leg in Nados,” Valjon added, tapping the prosthetic. “I wasn’t able to finish the war with you, but it was an honor doing what I could.”

“You fought bravely in Nados too,” Titania whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Ike said, shaking his head. “And thank you, for what you did for Crimea… Your sacrifice…” This was clearly a new and uncomfortable situation for him. Despite their months spent in Begnion, they’d never encountered anyone from the war who wasn’t also a close friend like Haar and Astrid (possibly because so few had survived).

Valjon shook his head. “I was glad to help our allies in Crimea. I don’t regret a thing.”

Ike hesitated but then nodded. “Please, Valjon, join us for dinner.”

Titania seemed alarmed (and perhaps embarrassed) by this prospect, but the man accepted the invitation without looking at her. “Of course, General. It’d be an honor.”

“It’s just Ike now,” he corrected him again, and the four continued inside to where the other mercenaries were waiting, obviously confused by the holdup.

But Valjon hadn’t walked two steps into the restaurant before was recognized by another competitor. The man raised his tankard high in the air, roaring his name. (Apparently, he was a fan.) A few moments later, another bystander approached Valjon, saying, “I saw you fight today! Oh, I’m so sorry about the loss. I really thought you were going to go all the way! I was rooting for you.”

The older man gracefully accepted the praise and well-wishing, and word quickly spread that ‘Valjon the Veteran’—the man who’d made it all the way to the sixth day with only one good leg and cost betters thousands of gold coins—had just entered the building. Titania’s cheeks reddened, and Ike seemed absolutely stupefied by the attention. He and Boyd were finalists, and yet no one recognized them unless it was someone spitting the words, ‘Cheating Crimeans!’

When the room finally settled down, the mercenaries sat with Valjon at a corner table, where they ate, drank, and discussed the games. After the initial introduction, not one word about the war was uttered again.

It didn’t take long for Valjon to discover the harassment and sabotage the mercenaries had been facing, and he was aghast when he found out. “If I could apologize on behalf of all my countrymen, I would do it in a heartbeat,” he said, “But there is no excuse.”

Ike shook his head. “We don’t blame Begnion.”

“I wish there was something I could do…”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged one shoulder.

But Soren had been formulating a plan since first witnessing the reception Valjon had received tonight. In his experience, abuse and bigotry could be alleviated by the testimony of just one person, and Valjon was exactly the right man for the job. “Perhaps you can help,” he said, seeming to catch him by surprise.

Ike cocked his head “How so?”

Soren addressed his answer to Valjon: “Make a bet on Ike tonight, and let it be known that you are rooting for the Crimeans. Be seen with Titania. Do what it takes to turn public opinion in our favor. Tomorrow, root for Ike and Boyd in the tournament.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ike countered. “We’ll be fine.”

“No, I want to!” Valjon replied. “If you think it will make a difference. But… Captain Titania mentioned that you are trying not to draw attention to yourselves.”

“Say you fought beside us in the war,” Soren offered. “It’s not a lie.”

Valjon nodded. “I can do that.”

After dinner, Valjon and Titania went off to set Soren’s plan into motion, while the others returned to the campsite. “He seems like a good guy,” Mia declared on the walk back. “I can see why Titania likes him.” Shinon followed this with a lewd comment, Ike scolded him, and no one spoke of Valjon or Titania for the rest of the evening.

The seventh and final day of the Telgam Games was an all-day tournament. Ike and Boyd were seeded in a couple of the earlier fights, so the mercenaries set out not long after daybreak. A mist was still hanging in the air when Soren and the others filed into the stands. Ike and Boyd waved from the waiting area below, and seeing them, Soren felt oddly nervous. No one’s life was at stake, and yet he had the same feeling he got when walking into a dangerous job. 

Ike had selected another boxing-style fight for his first match-up. He was in the fourth fight of the day, and the mercenaries cheered wildly when his name was announced. Several rows behind them, Valjon and his posse were also cheering.

Soren slid to the edge of his seat as soon as Ike and his opponent started circling each other. They traded flurries of blows to test each other’s defenses. Both were barefoot in the dusty arena, and both had their wrists and hands wrapped in cloth. A judge buzzed around them like a bee.

Then, suddenly, the attitude of their fight changed. Ike’s opponent threw a sharp jab, and Ike narrowly dodged it, responding with an uppercut. After that, there was no pausing or retreating from either one. The pair wailed on each other, barely shuffling more than a couple feet in either direction. Drops of blood spattered the ground and dyed their bound fists, but neither fell for more than a second before getting back up.

Ike’s opponent was older than him by at least a decade, and he was clearly no stranger to fighting. As the minutes wore on, Soren half-hoped Ike would beat this man to a pulp while also hoping he would give up before he got brain damage.

But then Ike rotated his entire bodyweight into an intense kick that sent the man flying sideways into the dirt. He tried to catch himself with one hand but only succeeded in snapping his wrist. Muffling his injured roars with his arm, the man slapped the ground with his good hand and kicked his legs like a toddler.

Ike stood over him, ready for the fight to continue, but he didn’t get to his feet. The judge called the match, announcing Ike the winner. The mercenaries cheered on the top of their lungs, and even Soren cupped his hands over his mouth to offer a wordless call of congratulations. To his surprise, excited hooting and cheering came from all around the stands. Panting hard, Ike wiped a trail of blood from the side of his mouth and raised his hand in a small wave.

The mercenaries watched another three matches before it was Boyd’s turn. Like Ike, he had chosen to fight with his feet and fists. His opponent was a string-bean of a man, but in spite of his light frame, his punches came fast and hard. Boyd, however, had always had an uncanny ability to take a punch and not let it affect him until several minutes later. Perhaps because of this, his opponent seemed to second-guess himself. Taking advantage of an early opening, Boyd threw his whole body into left hook, knocked him out cold only a couple minutes into the match. The crowd roared, and Boyd struck heroic-looking poses to feed their applause.

When the first round was complete, everyone took a short break, but none of the spectators were able to meet with the competitors, so Soren just bided his time. Before long, the second round began, and Ike was soon walking into the center of the arena again. This time, he would be wrestling against a monster of a man. His opponent was almost a head taller than him and three times as wide—especially around the middle. Soren didn’t know how Ike was going to handle this. In preparation of this event, Ike had practiced grappling with some of the other mercenaries, but he was still a novice. If he lost, it would be no surprise. Soren just hoped Ike wouldn’t get flattened like a pancake in the process. Blood was running hot and tensions were high. Several competitors had already been escorted from the arena nursing unforced injuries (if they were conscious at all).

But Ike defied Soren’s expectations. He dug in his heels and strained to gain leverage over his opponent. As the minutes drew on, he forced Ike into a hold twice, and Ike force him into one once. But each time the other had reversed, regaining leverage. They both looked tired, but Soren knew Ike’s endurance should never be underestimated. Eventually he managed to get the larger man into a choke hold and held on tight. His opponent struggled but couldn’t escape. Chants of “Ike! Ike! Ike!” and “Cri-me-a! Cri-me-a!” erupted from the stands even before the big man tapped out and the judge declared Ike the winner. Soren was astounded. If Ike won the next match, he would be in the quarter finals.

After one more match, it was Boyd’s turn again. Not to be outdone by Ike, he gestured for the crowd to cheer for him even before he was handed the two foot-long sticks he would be using in this fight. Once he had them in his palms, he twirled them around his fingers like a professional. However, these were not the axes he was used to, and unfortunately for Boyd, he dropped one after just a few seconds. The crowd groaned and laughed in equal measure.

Then it was time for the fight to really begin, and the stands fell silent. Boyd’s opponent unleashed a vicious onslaught, using the sticks like an extension of his arms. He spun and spiraled, never once relenting. Boyd managed to defend himself from most of the strikes, but he could never return a blow.

“That’s it! Wear him out!” Oscar called encouragement that Boyd couldn’t hear.

“Keep them up!” Mist chirruped. “You can do it!”

But, as it turned out, Boyd could not do it. More and more strikes were finding their marks on his arms, legs, calves, back, kidneys, and even one to the base of his neck that Soren thought may have fractured Boyd’s collar bone. After this, he struggled to keep the sticks up at all, and the man laid him into the dirt with a final swipe at the side of his head. Boyd didn’t get up.

“Brother!” Rolf cried.

“Boyd!” Mist screamed, lunging onto the bench ahead of them as if she could race down to the arena and heal him with the staff she didn’t even have with her. Luckily Gatrie was sitting in that row and seized her before she could get far.

“That has to be against the rules!” exclaimed Titania from where she was sitting with Valjon.

“It’s not,” Mia answered, shaking her head. “Ooh, that was nasty though.”

Two assistants pulled Boyd out of the arena, and Soren saw Ike run to him from the sidelines. There were healers on hand for situations like this, and Soren didn’t think Boyd would notice the loss of a few more brain cells. Ike’s brain, on the other hand, was one Soren valued a bit more. He grew anxious, worried that Ike would find himself in a stick-fighting contest next.

When it was finally time for the third-round matches, Ike strode into the arena to shake his opponent’s hand, and Soren was relieved to hear the judge announce that the style for this match would be shin-kicking. Mist and Rhys actually laughed in relief.

Ike and his opponent were allowed to wear shoes for this fight, and they were also given guards of woven straw to tie around their shins. After shaking hands a second time, Ike and the man seized each other’s shoulders just as Soren had seen other competitors do. But neither Ike nor his opponent seemed certain of what they were doing, and for the first few minutes both made a variety of mistakes that caused the judge to intervene and reset them. First Ike kicked above the man’s knee, then the man purposefully tripped Ike, and then Ike accidentally let go of the man’s shoulders. But eventually they seemed to get the hang of it. They shuffled back and forth, attempting to cause the greatest amount of pain to the other’s shins and weaken their legs enough to toss them into the dirt.

Ike’s opponent threw him suddenly, and a moan of defeat rose from the mercenaries. However, the judge raised both his hands and explained that the toss had been invalid—both of the man’s feet had been on the ground. Ike was still in the game.

This reinvigorated the mercenaries, who cheered and roared for their commander. The kicking resumed, and Soren watched without blinking. Of course he realized how ridiculous all of this was, and yet he really wanted Ike to win. A chant of “Cri-me-a! Cri-me-a!” began again in the stands behind him; Valjon’s influence had truly taken effect.

In that moment, Soren didn’t think Ike could lose. But in the next moment, he was proven wrong. Ike fell into the dirt, and the stands fell silent. They were uncertain this time, since no one seemed to know the rules of this game. But the judge called the toss fair and announced Ike’s opponent the winner. Getting to his feet with a chagrinned smile, Ike shook his opponent’s hand again. That was it—the Greil Mercenaries had officially lost the Telgam Games.

But that didn’t stop them from cheering for Ike as he limped out of the area. He waved up at them, and his smile was wide (albeit pained). Since the mercenaries had no reason to stay, they edged out of the stands to join Ike and Boyd outside. 

When they reunited with the beaming Ike and dazed-looking Boyd, Soren discovered his disappointment faded quickly. At least Ike hadn’t been badly injured, and remembering what he’d said about having fun, he was surprised to find he’d enjoyed himself merely by watching.

“Sorry, Mist.” Ike sighed. “I guess none of us are winning you that Hammerne staff.”

Mist shook her head. “Don’t be silly! I never even wanted it.”

“I’m sorry too, Mist,” Boyd said sadly. “Now you’re stuck with this bone-headed commander for a brother. I mean, he can’t even kick a guy in the shins correctly. You must be so ashamed.”

“You’re one to talk.” Mist put her hands on her hips. “How was your dirt nap?”

Boyd clutched his chest as if injured. “So cruel!”

She landed a soft punch on his arm. “You scared me half to death!”

Boyd held the spot if her punch had hurt. “Adding injury to my insult? You’re no sister of mine!”

“Exactly,” Ike said, wrapping a protective arm around Mist’s shoulders. But they were all smiling, and a moment later, Rolf and Oscar tackled Boyd from either side. 

“Guess you’re stuck with us!” Rolf chirruped.

“Hey that still hurts!” Boyd whined when Oscar raised a hand to examine the lump on the side of his head.

That afternoon, Valjon and a few of his friends joined the mercenaries at their camp. The tournament was over, and the winner had received his award. Now the campgrounds were vibrant with the losers celebrating their heroic losses alongside friends, family, and women for hire. The evening drew on with plenty of drinking, reminiscing, singing, and even dancing. Eventually the mercenaries broke up so they could each spend the last night in Telgam City as they pleased.

“My partner from yesterday is getting people together for drinks,” Boyd said to Ike. “You should come along.” But he politely declined, saying he might catch up later.

“We’re gonna pick up some girls in town,” Shinon said to Ike next, with Gatrie at his side. “I guess it wouldn’t cramp our style to have an almost-quarter-finalist tag along.” But once again Ike refused, saying he wasn’t interested in being Shinon’s wingman.

“They’re giving away free hotcakes down the road!” Mist exclaimed after that. But he just told her and Rolf to run along, saying he wasn’t hungry.

“Hey, Ike, you should meet some of the friends I made when I was pretending to be Percival!” Mia invited him next. “They’re fine with me being a girl, and they want to say goodbye.” But Ike merely thanked her for her invitation and told her she should go without him.

Rhys was already asleep, Titania was out somewhere with Valjon, and Oscar was taking a nighttime ride with someone he’d met at the horserace. That just left Soren and Ike at the campfire. They were both silent despite the laughter and raucous voices all around them, but Soren didn’t mind. In fact, he was happy to have this quiet time with Ike alone. His closeness was a comfort, and his contented smile was contagious. Soren tipped another log onto the fire.

After a while, Ike spoke. “Maybe things can be like this forever,” he mused.

Soren didn’t answer immediately. Because he was relaxed in this moment, part of him wanted to agree with Ike, but ultimately, he could not. “That can’t be,” he said.

“Why not?” Ike asked. He leaned back on his forearms, which brought him even closer.

“We’re mercenaries,” Soren answered. “We do not do well in peace.”

Ike shook his head. “There’ll always be work, but that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean how we choose to spend our time, where, and who with.”

“We travel for our work,” Soren replied, “and we are always with the company. I do not understand what you’re proposing.”

Ike shrugged. “Well, then, maybe time spent with some more than others.”

Soren frowned at the flames, wondering if something was on Ike’s mind, and if so, what could be bothering him when he looked as at ease as he did now. “You are the commander, Ike,” he reminded him. “You mustn’t show favoritism or preference.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as to say _that_ ,” he laughed. 

“I do not think it is a laughing matter,” Soren replied, because he honestly didn’t understand what Ike found humorous. “You must be professional. We all must be.”

“Not today,” Ike said with a soft grin. “Today we can just be ourselves. We played a few games, lost some money. I had a good time. Did you?”

“Of course,” Soren said, caught off guard by Ike’s tone, “but this cannot become habit.”

“This?” Ike asked, tilting his head back slightly.

Soren wondered if Ike was somehow teasing him. “Vacations,” he clarified. “They must end. Reality—and our shrinking coffers—mustn’t be ignored.”

Ike was silent for a while as he seemed to consider this. His smile slowly faded, and Soren regretting his part in banishing it. When he finally spoke again, his voice was lowered. “…What if I said I wouldn’t go to Daein, if every day not in Daein was like this?”

“I do not understand what you mean,” he replied stiffly.

“I know you don’t want us to go.”

“As I have said, our presence in Daein may be an exacerbating factor for the occupation.”

Ike shook his head. “No, that’s not it. You don’t want me to go. Me specifically.”

“Ridiculous,” Soren muttered.

“You really are kind,” he said in a soft voice.

Soren didn’t understand why he was saying this, so he shut it down: “There is no logical reason to avoid Daein, so if you wish it, that is where we must go. You are our commander, Ike. You must give us direction. You mustn’t give in to avarice.”

“Avarice?” Ike repeated, and a small laugh returned to his voice. “And what would I be hoarding?”

“Days like this,” Soren replied firmly, “at the expense of your true dreams and goals.”

Ike didn’t respond immediately, but eventually he nodded and said, “You’re a good friend, Soren.”

He couldn’t tell for certain, but Soren though he detected a shade of disappointment in his voice. “Thank you,” he answered, suddenly feeling a creeping disappointment in his own heart, “and you are an exemplary commander.”


	29. CHAPTER 60: NEW DAEIN

Upon leaving Telgam, the Greil Mercenaries headed east toward Seliora and then north on the road to Tor Garen. The mountain pass was vibrant with wildflowers this time of year and nearly unrecognizable from the day of the invasion. 

They passed through the wall fort with no difficulty. A pair of young Begnion soldiers were stationed inside the first gate. They smiled when the mercenaries reached them (having watched them walk up the long stairs), and Soren recalled a different welcome the last time they’d been here. Daein archers had showered them with arrows since the first step.

“Hello, friends,” one greeted them cheerily. Soren handed Ike their certification, which Ike then handed to the soldier who’d spoken. The boy’s eyes skimmed it carelessly. “Mercenaries huh? That’s neat!” Returning the scroll to Ike, he gestured that they should pass through.

“Good luck making your fortune in the new land!” said the other soldier with a wave.

No one said a word as they walked through the interior. The stone passage was eerily familiar and yet impossibly different. Instead of ebon soldiers wielding glistening weapons, they crossed crimson soldiers leaning against the walls, gazing out the windows with their helmets tucked under their arms, warming their hands by the braziers, chatting, and telling snide jokes to their companions. Most ignored the mercenaries; a few greeted them with a nod when they passed. The rafters had been repaired, and from them hung evenly-spaced red and gold banners. The catwalks on either side had been widened, giving easy access to the second and third levels of arrow loops, which were now little more than windows onto the mountain view.

Just as in the Grann Desert, Soren saw shadows of the bloodshed that had happened here. The ghosts of corpses settled like a miasma on the stone floor. He remembered this battle all too well, and he remembered Ike wanting to bury their enemies’ bodies. There was no sign of them now, not even a single bloodstain. 

The mercenaries were grim and tight-lipped, and Soren wondered if they saw the same shades. “Good times,” Shinon muttered, when they passed the spot where he and Ike had clashed. Ike only grunted.

When they reached the next Daein-facing exit, Soren half-expected to see a cloud of raven laguz flapping above the treetops, but of course there were none. Surprisingly, even the treetops themselves were gone. A great swath of land had been levelled on this side of border, and smoke rose from the chimneys of freshly-built houses. There was also a barracks teeming with soldiers, a carriage house and stables, and an inn with a freshly painted sign. ‘Welcome to New Daein!’ sang the curling letters.

Then Soren’s gaze fell on a small cemetery beside the settlement. He recognized it as a place where some Begnion soldiers had buried their dead comrades. He recalled them digging in the frozen earth with blue fingers, exhausted from the battle but relentless in their rituals. At the time, he’d seen it as a waste of energy—and he still did.

The engraved wooden stakes the soldiers had planted to mark the graves had been replaced by neat rows of headstones. But Soren knew there weren’t nearly enough stones to account for the graves dug there, and the dead weren’t buried in nice, even rows like these stones would suggest. A fence had been built around the plot, but Soren knew it didn’t encompass all the bodies. Casting his gaze around, he recalled soldiers burying their friends under that tree, below that cliff, next to that jutting boulder, in the spot where the inn was standing, in the spot where horses were now stabled, and so on. He wondered how many bodies had been exhumed to lay the foundations.

Turning his attention back to the cemetery, Soren noticed a stone tablet at its entrance. No doubt it said something about the heroic sacrifice of these soldiers, the importance of this victory for the war, and other such inspiring drivel. He didn’t read it.

From this settlement, a wide, straight road had been seamlessly paved with large flat stones. It moved up and down with the mountainous terrain, but the Begnion engineers had clearly worked hard to level the land, even cutting vast chunks out of the cliffs. Scorch marks still decorated the slashed rockface, and Soren wondered if lightning mages had been recruited for the brutish roadwork. (He imagined Ilyana would be willing to do it for a good meal.)

The mercenaries followed the road, from one settlement to the next, for over fifty miles until it suddenly stopped. A sun-weathered sign explained that this portion of the road was still incomplete and that construction would resume after the summer solstice and the end of the Ashera Week celebrations.

“What now?” Gatrie asked, sounding disappointed.

“There was a turnoff a half mile back,” was Ike’s answer. Since they didn’t have a particular destination, any road was as good as another.

For the rest of the month, the mercenaries traversed the backroads and mountain paths of country’s southern region. The Begnion occupants were determined that the Daein natives celebrate their empire’s holiest month, especially the week of festivities and prayer leading up to the solstice.

Although all beorc and laguz of Tellius worshipped Ashera as their mother goddess, there were variations outside of Begnion that the theocracy was hard-pressed to tolerate. Even when they’d been part of the empire, devout Daeins had always proven their faith through asceticism rather than celebration. A form of spiritualism had been popular in Talrega and polytheism embraced in Marado for thousands of years despite these faiths being considered sacrilege by the empire. Wherever the mercenaries travelled, the festive energy was strained and the forced gaiety hard to watch. Needless to say, the mercenaries didn’t partake in the celebrations if they could help it.

Eventually they made their way into the lowlands and, before long, came across another wide, straight avenue. Consulting his maps, Soren determined this was the same road, which was merely being assembled in segments wherever the land was gentlest. The mercenaries followed it for a couple weeks, staying at the bustling towns along its length.

When they came to a massive swamp, the road ended. Here a sign said construction would resume when the land had been filled. A foreign concept at first, the mercenaries now didn’t blink at the idea of humans turning a swamp into a solid earth. After months in ‘New Daein’, is seemed the industrious Begnion occupation could do anything at all. The land was completely changed: forests had been cleared, rivers dammed, and bogs like this filled in to make way for new roads and farms. Entire villages had been dismantled, while others had sprouted out of nothing. Herds had been consolidated, fields sewn with vast irrigation networks, and mines plumbed deep for ore.

Leaving the swamp behind, the mercenaries once again followed smaller roads: both old Daein ones and new Begnion ones. These led from town to town, village to village, or (as was more often the case) from military outpost to military outpost. The land was spotted with these stations, and soldiers constantly marched between them like trains of ants. Soren wondered if the multitude of soldiers was really necessary to keep the peace.

Everywhere they went, Begnion pennants flapped against stone, wood, and sky. They bore the symbol of the Imperial Army, the insignia of the Apostle, the crests of Sainted families, and the seals of the senators. It seemed all of Begnion thought they could claim Daein by putting their name on it. Or perhaps this, like the abundance of soldiers, was merely a means of intimidation.

Despite (or possibly because of) the bravado, the mercenaries never witnessed an altercation between Daein civilians and Begnion troops. The only act of outright violence they’d seen was when a skinny Daein kid had attempted to steal a sack of food from a Begnion warehouse. The child didn’t make it far before getting an arrow in his back, and it had taken half the mercenary company to restrain Ike and convince him the soldiers were just doing their job.

Most of the Daeins they met were like that skinny boy—they seemed far too young, old, or sick. Soren wondered where all the able-bodied citizens had gone and could only assume the rumored Begnion workcamps were still thriving two years after the occupation had begun. Although the Greil Mercenaries never saw a camp themselves, they heard whispers. And if they headed toward one, Begnion soldiers politely (yet forcibly) redirected them, claiming construction, quarantine, or wildfires ahead.

In addition to the threat of workcamps, the occupation had other methods by which to keep the locals in line. Daein citizens were taxed heavily, and even the noble families had become all but completely destitute. Naturally, they weren’t allowed to make or own weapons—or hire mercenaries, even if they had money. This was ill news for the company.

Tribal strongholds like Talrega and Marado—for centuries both part of Daein and separate from it—were forced to bow down to the apostle as they’d never kneeled to anyone before. Throughout Daein’s history, they’d been at least partially independent. Even Ashnard had respected their autonomy, and Marado had gotten away with withholding soldiers for his war. But now the wyvern masters of Talrega had been forced to give up their dragons and all their secrets for breeding and training them. And in Marado—the only beorc hold where it was legal—same-sex couples were torn apart, their marriages voided, and the offenders beaten. Their sturdy northern horses were appropriated for the Imperial Army, and their herds of caribou were hunted mercilessly and sold as a delicacy in the south.

The Greil Mercenaries didn’t observe these things themselves, but rumors ran rampant. Soren tried to shield Ike from them if he could, and everyone in the company refrained from discussing the rumors too much.

Despite the welcome they’d received at Tor Garen, it became clear as the months drew on that the soldiers stationed here weren’t fond of the mercenaries. Most outpost commanders didn’t trust them, making it difficult to find work. Perhaps they could sense Ike and the others’ sympathy for the subjugated Daeins. But because it was illegal for Daein citizens to hire mercenaries, these Begnion commanders and the occasional free merchant or entrepreneur were their only source of employment. 

Without steady work, the summer months were lean ones. Everyone in the company grew solemn and lethargic. When they had no job to do, they spent the hottest part of the day dozing in the shade or lazing around an inn or tavern if they had the coin. Soren feared they were losing their edge. The sooner they left Daein, the better.

One night, Ike slammed his fists on the table, causing everyone’s plates and cups to rattle. “We have to help them!” he growled. They were eating at a small Daein-run inn, but there were still two Begnion soldiers sitting at a corner table, watching more than eating.

Titania widened her eyes in warning. “Careful, Ike.”

Ike shot the soldiers an annoyed glance, to which they only frowned deeper into their mustaches. He then turned back to the mercenaries, all of whom had edged their seats and bodies closer.

“There has to be an underground resistance,” Ike continued, his voice hushed but passionate. “We could find it and offer our services.”

“Absolutely not,” Soren shot back. “Even if there is such a resistance, they would be dirt poor and unable to pay us.”

“Pay us?” Rhys repeated, sounding faint. “That’s what you’re concerned about? What about the certainty of being arrested or killed!”

Titania shook her head. “Think, Ike. We’d help instigate another war. You can’t possibly want that. Daein has seen enough bloodshed.”

This seemed to resonate with him more than Soren’s or Rhys’s objections. He clasped his hands in front of his empty plate, clearly wrestling with his own mind.

“All things pass, don’t they?” Mia ventured. “This can’t last forever.”

“Maybe we should never have come back here,” Mist said, her voice hollow. On either side of her, Rolf and Boyd each moved to put an arm around her shoulders, but Rolf was quicker.

“Daeins wouldn’t want our help anyway,” Shinon cut in. “I don’t think they’d be quick to forgive ‘General Ike’.” As usual, he knew exactly where to poke a sharp stick and do the most damage.

Ike looked angry, but he also looked defeated. He didn’t object.

Soren hated to see him this way. “No one is at fault more than another. We merely followed the mandate of our contract holder.”

“I agree,” Oscar said, more gently. “What’s passed is exactly that: in the past. The only thing that we can do—and that the Daein people can do—is move forward from here. It may not be tomorrow, but as Mia said, I believe this shall pass given time.”

Ike shook his head. “What Begnion’s doing is wrong.”

“Is it?” Soren countered, wondering if he was about to make Ike feel better or worse. “Daein was ravaged by the war—not only the invasion of the Liberation Army but also by the Mad King’s invasion of Crimea in the first place. When Ashnard died, the country was left without a king or any sort of government fit to manage the it. Many would have tried to seize power with cunning and bloodlust, causing the entire nation to turn against itself. Soldiers who had committed atrocious crimes would have returned to Daein unpunished. Those resentful of their loss could even have risen against Crimea again. There was going to be pain and injustice no matter what. At least with Begnion on the inflicting side, Crimea remains safe and Daein has some hope of a future.”

Ike’s expression had soured, which at least meant he was listening, but the lecture certainly hadn’t had the mollifying effect Soren had hoped for.

“Soren’s right,” Titania said (which wasn’t something he was used to hearing from her). “It’s a hard truth. But it is what it is.”

“Maybe we should leave Daein,” Gatrie mumbled. “There’s no work ‘ere, and all this place brings is bad memories.”

“Maybe…” Ike repeated noncommittally.

The Greil Mercenaries were silent for several minutes. When conversation eventually resumed, it was about lighter topics. Not long after that, everyone turned in for the night. Gatrie’s suggestion was not revisited, but Soren had no doubt everyone was thinking the same thing: leaving Daein sounded like the right plan, but it also sounded like retreat. It felt like abandoning this nation and its people.

A few days later, Titania made a proposition she clearly hoped would lift everyone’s spirits. She unrolled a map of western Daein that she’d marked with symbols and notes. “Ike, Mist,” she said to them, although everyone was leaning in to see. “I’ve had an idea for a while now, but… Would you be interested in trying to learn more about Commander Greil? I mean Gawain of the Four Riders, the man he was before he fled Daein.”

Ike looked like a spooked deer, but Mist sighed and rested her palm on her cheek. “I _have_ thought about it, but I don’t know...” She shook her head. “Even if we did find grandparents or cousins here in Daein… They would be strangers to us.”

“Cousins?” Ike repeated, and Soren wondered how the possibility could have never occurred to him before.

Titania nodded. “If he left family or friends behind, they might want to know what happened to him. Elena too. I think we should try.”

Soren peered at Titania and wondered what was going through her head. Pitching this idea in front of everyone made it difficult for Ike and Mist to refuse. She wanted this investigation, and Soren wondered how long she’d been planning it. Perhaps her tryst with Valjon hadn’t been an indication she’d moved on from Greil after all.

“I supposed we could try…” Mist gave in. “What are these places you’ve marked?” She drew a finger over the map.

“Wait, we can’t-” Ike didn’t seemed to know why he was protesting, but a moment later his excuses caught up to him: “It would be wrong to involve the whole company. We can’t ask you to do this for us.”

“Oh, I’m sure no one would mind.” Titania waved her hand flippantly. No one immediately contradicted her, so she proceeded to answer Mist’s question: “This is a library, one of the oldest in Daein. And these three are temples. Here is a former Daein fort; I’m sure Begnion controls it now, but they may still keep old military records,” she prattled on.

“Hey, I ain’t about to go read a bunch of musty old books,” Shinon interjected. “Not even for Greil, and not even if you paid me—which I’m guessin’ you’re not.”

Titania glared at him, but Ike answered before she could. “Exactly,” he said. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

Mist looked disappointed, and seeing this, Ike hesitated. Soren decided to prod the situation: “Titania’s proposal is not out of the question,” he said. “We were thinking about heading west anyway, right? We can find jobs on the way. Ike and Mist can stay behind in the libraries and whatnot. Titania, since this was her idea, can lead the missions.”

He waited for a wave of objections, but they didn’t come. Titania gritted her teeth, obviously annoyed that she would be barred from her own investigation, but she said stiffly: “Yes, I could do that.”

Ike didn’t protest either, even though he didn’t look particularly happy. He glanced at Mist, whose eyes were hopeful. “If you want to do this, Mist, I guess we could take a look around.”

The other mercenaries grumbled about going along with it as long as there was work where they were going. Soren could hardly believe he’d somehow settled the discussion when he had only meant to push Ike and Titania into revealing more of their motivations. To his annoyance, neither had revealed anything, and now the company was committed to this half-baked research mission. It was rare that his strategies backfired like this.

That night Soren overheard Ike and Mist discussing this development in soft tones. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you wanted this?” was Ike’s question.

“I just… I don’t know,” was Mist’s reply. “Or, well, I know it doesn’t matter, but…” She continued to try to explain her feelings, but Soren moved out of earshot so he couldn’t eavesdrop any longer. He didn’t have a family; he hadn’t been raised by loving parents. He couldn’t understand what they were feeling, and he didn’t want to try.

Taking a moonlit walk to avoid overhearing the siblings, Soren soon caught sight of Titania sitting on a stump on a hill. The map was on her knees, and she’d stuck a torch in the ground. Adjusting his path so it would bring him up the hill behind her, Soren decided he would seek his answers directly. “What do you hope to find?” he asked when he was close enough.

Titania jumped as if she hadn’t heard him approaching. “Oh, Soren, it’s you.”

“Why this interest now?”

She folded the map. “I thought it would be good for Ike and Mist to learn a bit more about their parents,” she offered unconvincing.

“That won’t bring them back to life,” Soren returned.

“Of course not, but…” Titania shook her head and sighed. “In all the years I knew him, Greil never mentioned his life in Daein. Not once.”

“That is not unusual, for a man on the run,” Soren pointed out.

Titania stood. “When General Tauroneo joined us, he had such stories about Greil: stories of serving beside him, stories that sounded so familiar. ‘Gawain’ is not a stranger to me, yet it is a stranger’s name…” She withdrew the torch and started walking down the hill. “How can I not seek answers?”

Soren followed and tried to digest her words. But in the end, he still didn’t understand. He may not have known his parents, but Ike and Mist did. Titania already knew Greil as well as anyone. What ‘answers’ could she possibly be seeking?

Following Titania’s map, they went from one location to the next, staying a few days—a week at most—wherever Ike and Mist could find a scrap of paper bearing Greil’s former name. But there was not much to find. Despite his impressive (albeit short) military career and his four years serving as one of the Four Riders, not many documents had survived from that time. (In fact, an entire year’s worth of records was missing thanks to the King’s Plague of 623, when it appeared no one had bothered to write anything down.) 

When he wasn’t needed on a job, Soren helped Ike and Mist with their research. But even he couldn’t dredge up anything useful. Many records had been misplaced or neglected in the war (just as Koure had forewarned), and those that had survived had either been burned, moved, or put under guard by the Begnion occupation. The search was futile, and what little they did find suggested the family they were looking for didn’t exist.

Gawain had been a commoner before joining the army, so his family had no surname or lands to distinguish them. In a news report about his promotion to Rider, the ceremony’s chief witness was some random general, when a father or other family member would have been more traditional. A couple weeks later, Mist found a book of records listing all marriages, divorces, and land deals concerning generals and high-level commanders for the year 624. Under Gawain’s name, she found his marriage to Elena, who was described as a healer from the local abbey. The ceremony took place in Nevassa, was officiated by a local priest, and was attended by soldiers who’d served with Gawain and acolytes who’d served with Elena. No family members were mentioned on either the bride or groom’s side.

Soren would have considered that the end of the investigation, but the siblings kept searching until Titania’s map was exhausted. Aside from making the trek to Nevassa and searching the state library, there was nothing more they could do.

The next day, the mercenaries got a job locating and clearing a network of caves where Daein bandits were stockpiling stolen Begnion food. The commander in this region suspected the caves would be rife with traps, and she jumped at the opportunity to send the Greil Mercenaries to their deaths instead of her own troops. Ike and Titania accepted the job despite the danger, and for the first time in weeks, both Ike and Mist accompanied them on the mission.

The commander was right about the traps but wrong about the mercenaries succumbing to them. When the job was over, she reluctantly paid them, and they continued on their way. On the road again, someone finally broached the subject of the fruitless search; it was Gatrie. “So…that’s the end of the book-hopping, right?” he asked, “Where to next?”

“I heard rumor about an outpost a little north of here,” Titania answered, obviously trying to hide her disappointment and remain professional. “They’re waiting on reinforcements and may pay us to bolster their defenses until said reinforcements arrive.”

“Right…” Shinon tossed his head doubtfully. “If they don’t suspect us of being spies, like every other goddess-damned outpost in these boonies.”

“We’ll check it out,” Ike declared, sounding more eager than the situation called for. “Soren, confer with Titania and find us the best route.”

“Right away,” Soren promised, glad to see Ike’s spirits had improved. 

“I’m surprised…” he said when he finally got Ike alone a couple days later. They were scouting the outpost together, and he knew this would be his best chance to pick Ike’s brain, even if he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to say.

“That they’re keeping so many people on the wall?” Ike supplied. “It’s to make it seem like they have more soldiers than they actually do, right?”

“Not that.” Soren shook his head. Rolf was nearby, but he didn’t seem to be listening. The seventeen-year-old boy was playing with the collapsible telescope like a toy. “You’ve been rather optimistic since leaving Temple Herald.”

“I’m always optimistic,” Ike countered.

“That is true,” Soren agreed, watching his footing as they picked their way to a higher lookout point. “It’s rather annoying actually.”

He laughed. “No need to be surprised then.”

“Is there a reason you didn’t want to learn about Gawain?” Soren asked plainly.

Ike pouted. “You’re not the first person to ask me that question. In fact, you’re probably the last. Everyone thinks they can help me ‘come to terms with my father’s death’…but this has nothing to do with that.”

Soren frowned. “Well, this was a waste of my time then. I suppose I should have merely asked the others and gossiped about you behind your back.”

Ike stopped and squinted down at the fort. “C’mon, Rolf, you’re falling behind!” he called as loud as he dared. “Rolf!”

At that, Rolf lifted his head and jogged to meet them. “Sorry!”

“For the record, I was not concerned about your feelings,” Soren grumbled. “I wondered if you had intelligence you weren’t sharing.”

“Of course you were,” Ike chuckled.

“…Well?” Soren prodded.

“No, I don’t,” he finally answered. He held out his hand and Rolf gave him the spyglass. “It’s not important to me, honestly. I have Mist, and I have the mercenaries. That’s all I need. You asked me once if I ever worried about where I came from—the answer is still no.” He shrugged meaningfully. 

Soren pondered this a moment and decided to proceed even with Rolf listening: “Are you sure it has nothing to do with the fact that your bloodline, if it exists here in Daein, may have belonged to some soldier you felled during the war?”

Ike glanced sideways at him, even while keeping the telescope propped on his fingers. “I did think of that after we started searching, but no, I’m not afraid of that.” 

Rolf looked suddenly worried, glancing between Ike and Soren as if the possibility had never occurred to him. “Oh, that wouldn’t be any good at all…” he muttered.

Soren ignored him and resumed his questioning: “Then why go along with Titania’s plan?”

“It may not be important to me,” Ike answered, handing Soren the spyglass next, “But if Mist and Titania cared…I wasn’t going to say no to a bunch of musty old books.”

“How very kindhearted of you.” He didn’t get the impression Ike was lying, either to him or himself. When he was satisfied with his assessment of the Begnion garrison, Soren returned the spyglass.

Ike handed the device back to Rolf. “Hey Rolf, see if you can climb that tree and get a view of their stables. I want to know their mobility.”

Rolf saluted. “Aye-aye, Boss!”

When he’d pulled himself nearly out of sight, Ike spoke again. “Actually there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you too.”

“Hm?” Soren hummed, watching the rustle of branches that marked Rolf’s progress.

“Why didn’t you join us? Why didn’t you look for your own parents at the same time?”

Soren answered quietly, for fear their voices would drift up to Rolf’s perch. “What would I look for?” he scoffed. “I have no leads.”

“What about the old woman you mentioned?”

“Dead. I looked for her when we were in Nevassa.”

“You were born in Nevassa?” Ike repeated, keeping his voice quiet and his chin down.

“I don’t know,” Soren answered honestly, “but that is where she lived.”

“So you don’t have any other leads at all?”

“There was rumor of a drunk cobbler,” Soren recounted, “and a woman he may or may not have seen one night: a woman who may or may not have come looking for me.”

“Soren, that’s amazing!” Ike said a little too loudly.

The rustling above their heads signaled that Rolf was on his way down. Soren didn’t want to discuss this sensitive matter any longer. “The rumor is not worth pursuing,” he said quickly. “It is a fool’s hope. I won’t hobble myself with what-ifs and maybes.”

This answer seemed to frustrate Ike. “But I thought you…” he began, but after glancing at Rolf’s feet appearing above, he didn’t argue further.

Soren decided it was safe enough to say one more thing: “Of course I want to know,” he whispered. “But for now…I want to focus on where I am. You—the mercenaries—are all I need right now.”

Ike grinned widely, and Rolf dropped to the ground a moment later. “I got a good look!” he reported.

“Nice work!” Ike patted him on the back. Then he threw an arm around both Rolf’s and Soren’s shoulders, steering them back to camp. “How many horses?” he asked, as if he’d never lost focus on the reconnaissance.

As Shinon had predicted, the outpost captain suspected the mercenaries of being spies and rejected their offer. In response, Ike conveyed the information the mercenaries had acquired about the fort’s defenses and the capability of the rebel faction in the hills. “If we’re spies, then that’s all we’ve discovered,” he said, with his arms akimbo. “We know the rebels outnumber you, and we know you’re stuck here with reinforcements still a week away. You need our help, and we’re glad to give it—for a price.”

The captain looked unconvinced.

Soren showed him the company’s certification, along with a letter of introduction they’d received from another Begnion commander a couple months ago. After assessing these, the captain did seem to believe their authenticity, but he still refused to hire them.

Soren was about to give up, but then Ike made a different proposition: “How about this? Build a signal pyre on that hill.” He pointed. “We’ll stay in the village for a week.” He pointed to the distant lights. “If the rebels attack, light the fire with a flaming arrow. We’ll back you up right away, but you’ll have to pay double our asking price.”

The captain frowned, but he didn’t seem entirely opposed to the plan.

“Agreeing to this deal won’t cost you a single copper,” Soren pointed out. “But it could save your lives.”

After consulting privately with his lieutenant, the captain agreed to the insurance plan. “We’ll stack the wood,” he answered with a wave of his hand. “But I am sending a man with you to town. If he discovers you’ve pressured the rebels into attacking us, you will all die. Understood?”

Ike frowned. “Sure, we’ll babysit your guy, but you’ve got to agree to the deal in writing.”

The captain nodded, and once the pact was made, the mercenaries departed. The captain and his guards filed back into the fort, and Soren wondered if Ike’s gamble would pay off. These soldiers were sitting on a stockpile of freshly harvested food and a hoard of tax money delayed on its way south. Knowing this, a faction of the local poor folk had transformed into desperate rebels, hiding in the hills and harassing travelers and messengers. Most had no weapons except for hunting bows, pitchforks, and threshing knives, but they had more horses. They could attempt a siege of the poorly guarded fort, and if so, the eleven mercenaries could tip the scales in the garrison’s favor. Only time would tell.

But time disappointed them. The days ticked by, and the mercenaries twiddled their thumbs, always keeping an eye on the hill beside the outpost. They were friendly toward the soldier in their midst. He was hardly older than Rolf: a new recruit who’d somehow offended the captain and landed himself in this position. After the first few days, he started to loosen up around the mercenaries and actually sleep at night.

On the sixth day, Titania came riding back reporting that the reinforcements were a half-day’s march away. Ike gripped his sword, staring at the hill as if he could will the pyre into flame. But as the hours passed, it became clear the rebels weren’t going to launch any sort of coherent offensive.

The gambit had failed—and the mercenaries were a week poorer for it. There had been nothing to do in the village except watch people separating cotton seeds for days, and Soren was annoyed by the waste of time. But he knew the other mercenaries were frustrated for an entirely different reason.

“They… They didn’t even try,” Mist muttered to herself, staring into the hills that marked rebel territory. “How can they not even try?”

“They had the numbers and the horses…” Rolf agreed quietly. “They really did have a chance”

“Maybe they knew we were here?” Titania suggested. “Perhaps the possibility of a counterassault from behind was too much for them.”

“Nah, they’re just cowards,” Shinon spat. “Disorganized cowards. There was never any chance they were gonna rise up. We beat them too good last time.”

“Enough,” Ike put an end to the speculation. “If everyone’s ready, let’s move on.” The others nodded their agreement.

Soren marveled at the fact that his comrades didn’t seem to know whose side they were on. With the exception of Shinon, they seemed to pity the Daeins who’d become hungry and frustrated enough to turn from farming to robbing. They sympathized with their plight and wanted them to show a little bravery. They wanted to see a bit of pride—even if they were going to be the ones to squash it.

Autumn was already here. The Greil Mercenaries had been in Daein for six months, and they must have overstayed their welcome. A few days after leaving that cotton-farming village, they arrived at a large town in which helmet-hooded eyes followed them everywhere. This was not entirely uncommon, but these soldiers were also gripping their weapons.

As they always did when entering a new town, the mercenaries spread out to search for potential jobs, but no one wandered far today. Soren reported to Ike’s side to share his observation that they were being followed, but Titania and Oscar were already here, making the same complaint.

“Yeah, I noticed. Something’s definitely up… Greil Mercenaries!” he called, and when he had everyone’s attention, he made the hand signal to regroup. From here he led them to a relatively empty intersection nearby. By the time they reached it, the remaining civilians had made themselves scarce.

“What’s up, Boss?” Boyd asked while scanning the roads in every direction. Each appeared empty, but the motions and shadows of soldiers were just visible in the mouths of alleyways. Not to mention the clank of armor and weapons—Soren was fairly sure it wasn’t his acute senses allowing him to hear it. These soldiers were just poor at stealth.

However, the mercenaries weren’t trying to escape, and they let the soldiers surround them at their leisure. “Your guess is as good as mine,” Ike answered with a shrug.

They waited a few moments longer, letting the soldiers break their cover and move in. When the their faces were close enough to see clearly, Soren saw confusion and annoyance. Half had bows trained on the mercenaries, with arrows knocked but strings not yet drawn.

Eventually the commander presented himself: a man with particularly bushy eyebrows and mustache. He scrunched them as if to appear surly, but it looked more like he had an itch on his nose and was trying to scratch it with the bristles. His stance, however, was one of a man ready for battle. “Hold!” he ordered unnecessarily.

“We haven’t done anything wrong,” was Ike’s reply.

“Mercenary scum,” the commander spat.

“Well, that hurts,” Ike replied dryly.

“You must leave. Sell-swords are not wanted or needed here!”

“We’re authorized to conduct our business in the Begnion Empire,” Ike said, his voice a warning. “We’ll go where there’s work, wanted or not.”

The commander bared his teeth. “Is that so?”

“Show him, Soren.” Ike’s voice was a nudge.

Soren rifled quickly through his bag to retrieve the documents bearing the apostle’s seal. These he brought to the commander, who snatched the scroll away, giving Soren a long glare of disgust. As with most people, his sneer lingered on his forehead. After a few seconds, he looked away so he could skim the letter.

When he finished, he crumpled the paper. “Hah,” he scoffed, tossing the certification to the ground. “Doesn’t matter.”

Soren tried to catch Ike’s eye, but his gaze was fixed on the commander. “How so?” Ike asked.

“The law’s changed. No more mercenaries in Daein. No one’s allowed to bear arms but military personnel.”

“Well, we weren’t informed of that,” Ike replied innocently.

“Well, you are now. Disarm yourselves.”

The mercenaries didn’t move a muscle, waiting for Ike’s decision.

“You can’t be arresting us,” Ike asked in disbelief. “Not after our first warning.”

“We’re deporting you,” the commander shot back. “Now _disarm yourselves_.”

Ike carefully withdrew his sword and, while laying it on the ground at his feet, asked, “Back to Begnion?”

The commander seemed pleased by his cooperation. “You curs don’t belong in the great nation of Begnion. You’ll be removed to Crimea.”

Ike didn’t respond to that, but he gestured that the rest of the mercenaries should lay down their weapons too. “Hands on top of your heads,” the commander ordered next. A squad of four soldiers emphasized his words by pulling the strings behind their arrows.

Ike obeyed, and the others followed suit.

Several soldiers rushed to collect their weapons. One grabbed the crumpled documents, and a couple more took up the horses’ reins. When they moved away, the commander spoke again: “Remain still.” While the mercenaries stood obediently, other soldiers came forward to clasp shackles around their ankles. They were connected to each other in a chain, with only a few feet of iron links between any two of them.

“Is this really necessary?” Ike asked.

“We don’t want you running off, do we?”

Ike sighed and mumbled, “As if living as a fugitive in Daein would be such a dream.”

“What was that?” the commander demanded.

Ike rolled his eyes. “I said travelling to Crimea with you is going to be such a dream.”

Luckily, they weren’t forced to walk the whole way to Crimea. At the edge of town, they were herded into a large carriage pulled by eight horses. The only sources of air were two narrow windows above their heads. Sitting down, they fit knee-to-knee.

Soren had seen carriages like this often enough these past few months, and he had no doubt the others had noticed them too. They’d just never imagined they would find themselves inside of one. The transportation of prisoners and indentured natives made possible the rebuilding of this nation, and Soren supposed he should be grateful they were just being deported. There were worse places this carriage could take them than Crimea.

They were released from the cart twice a day to eat and relieve themselves. If nature called at any other time, there was a bucket in the corner. (Soren was determined never to use the bucket.) At night, they slept curled up tightly or leaning against each other while sitting. But he tried to remain awake and standing as long as possible, because the air was fresher with everyone breathing softly on the floor.

Mist, Rolf, and Mia did their best to keep everyone’s spirits up. But over their prattle and jokes came the constant grumbling: “They clearly don’t know who we are,” “These aren’t anything like the soldiers we served with in the war,” “How have they never heard of the Greil Mercenaries?” “I wonder if the Apostle knows about this?” “Where do they get off treating us like criminals?” and so on.

Most of the time, Soren kept his lips tightly sealed, distracting himself with mental games, recalling bits of books he’d skimmed or started without finishing, out-strategizing imaginary enemies, and replaying past battles and sieges he would have planned differently in retrospect. Unfortunately, these mental exercises were no remedy for the boredom.

Two weeks were spent like this, until they finally left the claustrophobic carriage and continued on foot for another week. Each day, their group grew with even more deportees. Among these was another group of mercenaries. These were Begnion natives, but they were being deported to Crimea nonetheless. (The soldiers had no more respect for their sell-sword countrymen than they did the Greil Mercenaries.) There was also a small cohort of Crimean healers who’d come to help the Daein sick folk, a group of Crimean priests who’d come to restore Daein temples, and a group of Crimean scholars who’d come to record a modern history of Daein under Ashnard’s reign. There was even a group of travelling thespians, whose brightly-colored costumes were dimmed by their frustrated expressions, the chains around their ankles, and the innumerable days gone without bathing or a change of clothes.

The rest of the deportees were traders and tradesmen. Like their Begnion counterparts, these people had come from Crimea to sell their wares and services, hoping to make a fortune in the reconstruction of Daein (rather than the restoration of their own country.)

“It’s about time we kicked you rabble out,” Soren overheard a Begnion soldier grumble while checking the locks on their chains. “Maybe now we can get some lasting peace.”

“Do you think these Crimeans were really causing a problem for the occupation?” Ike asked once the soldier moved away. He didn’t turn around, but Soren knew he was asking him.

“No,” he answered. “More likely we are a scapegoat for Begnion’s failings. That, or…”

“Or?” Ike pushed, twisting so Soren could see one of his intense blue eyes.

“In light of their failure to completely subdue the nation, perhaps the Imperial Army is preparing new tactics and want to remove any potentially disapproving witnesses.”

“What kind of ‘new tactics’?” he asked suspiciously.

“I shouldn’t speculate further. An idle imagination can be a dangerous thing.”

Ike frowned, wrinkling his forehead. “Not long ago, I couldn’t stop you from over-thinking things.”

“And I am taking your advice,” Soren said stiffly. “As you pointed out, we are no longer at war. These are not our problems to solve.”

Ike waited as if expecting more. But Soren said nothing, not wanting to make him feel any worse than this visit to Daein already had. Eventually he faced forward again, and soon the familiar clinking of chains resumed.

Rather than heading for one of the mountain passes between Daein and Crimea, the soldiers brought the deportees to a port town and loaded them onto a ship that reeked of fish. Their chains were removed, and only a small number of soldiers accompanied them on the brief voyage along the Oribes Sea.

These soldiers became more relaxed when the bland Daein coast was exchanged for the stark barrier mountains. They joked with the crew and some of the deportees, who outnumbered them now. The disgruntled passengers were not inclined to joke back, but they did breathe a collective sigh of relief in their own time. Their difficult sojourn as prisoners was behind them.

The deportees huddled under blankets with steaming bowls of cod soup in their hands, and they spoke among themselves about what they were going to do once they landed in Crimea. The Greil Mercenaries were no exception; they convened in the bow of the ship, where the cold wind twisted their hair and coated their faces in salt.

Rolf perched confidently on the gunwale, against which Mist was leaning. Oscar stood on the other side, with one arm half-outstretched as if ready to grab his brother if he fell. Boyd was sitting on the base of the bowsprit. Shinon sat cross-legged on a barrel, next to which Rhys stood meekly. Gatrie settled his weight on a pile of rope as if it were some kind of cushion, and Mia had one leg up on the anchor chain, her hands on her hips. Meanwhile Ike had his back to the foremast, facing them all. Soren made sure to stand on his right, and Titania was on his left. Surveying his comrades, Soren was satisfied to see their spirits were returning. He saw it in the lines of their faces, the movements of their limbs, and even the looseness of the knuckles in their hands.

Only Ike’s jaw was still hesitant. His stance was tense, and his fingers were half-curled like they wanted to be fists. Soren wished he would just let the Daein matter go.

“So, we’re heading back home to Crimea,” Ike began. “I’m sure you’ve all been thinking about what you’d like to do when we arrive.”

“Thinking and walking,” Gatrie grumbled in lighthearted resignation. “There wasn’t much else to do, was there?”

“So let’s hear it.”

“Are we staying in Crimea, Brother?” Mist asked tentatively.

“What do you mean?” Ike asked, though Soren had little doubt he understood.

“Is our vacation over?” Rolf clarified.

“We weren’t on vacation. We were working.” 

Chastised, Rolf dropped his gaze to the deck.

“In answer to your question, Mist—” Ike turned to her “—that’s up to all of us. We can stay in Crimea for as long as we want.”

“Then,” Mist replied, “I’d like to check on the old fort again.”

Ike nodded. “We can head in that direction.”

Rhys raised his hand, saying, “I haven’t received a letter from my parents since we left Begnion, and I would like to visit them…if possible.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Ike replied with genuine compassion—the shadow of Daein leaving him. “We’ll head toward Arbor first thing!”

Gatrie sighed contentedly. “There’s a lass in Arbor who said she’d wait for me. Wonder if she’s still there…”

Mia elbowed him in the side. “For her sake, I hope she’s long gone!”

“Will we present ourselves to her majesty?” Oscar asked, his careful eyes on Ike’s face.

He frowned. “I’d like to avoid that if possible. It’s only been two years since the war ended. Let’s keep a low profile for now.”

Oscar bobbed his head in consent, and everyone else nodded, grunted, or otherwise voiced their agreement. 

“I understand your reasoning,” Titania mused aloud, “but mightn’t it be a moot point if our names are recognized?” She shook her head. “Hopefully the Crimeans, at least, know who saved them from Ashnard.”

Ike smiled inwardly, as if he’d just thought of something clever. “We’ll just call ourselves the _Grail_ Mercenaries for a while.”

“What?” Titania asked in confusion. 

“ _Grail_ ,” Ike repeated, “with an ‘a’.”

Titania snorted while the others grinned. Soren grimaced (although he was glad to see Ike was in a joking mood).

“And, what, are you going to be Spike?” Boyd guffawed.

“Only if you’re Lloyd,” was Ike’s reply, which sent him reeling with laughter.

Ike swept his hand through the air. “In all seriousness, I don’t think we should have to go by assumed names. Let’s just keep doing small-time work, like we did before the war.”

Titania, Oscar, Gatrie, and Boyd gave soft nods and fond smiles. 

“I agree with Ike’s assessment,” Soren finally spoke up. “If we deny we are the same mercenaries who won the war, who’s to tell us differently?” He paused a moment to let that sink in. “That being said—” he turned to face Ike fully “—I do question the logic of this plan. By winning the war, we earned esteem for our company. What good is that if we don’t use it to acquire high-paying contracts? ‘Keeping a low profile,’ as you have said, is a poor strategy for improving profits.”

“The whelp knows what he’s talking about,” Shinon yawned. 

Ike crossed his arms and held Soren’s gaze. “But that’s not what Crimea needs from us right now. I say we forgo profit to do what’s best for Queen Elincia and Crimea as a whole!”

Rolf cheered at these words.

“Idiot,” Shinon muttered under his breath.

“And what the Boss says goes.” Boyd punched him in the arm.

Shinon’s eyes shot daggers.

“Very well,” Soren conceded. He would respect Ike’s decision, but that didn’t mean he was happy about it. Whether he was trying to help her or avoid her, Ike was thinking of Elincia first and the rest of the mercenaries second. Soren’s old jealousy bubbled to the surface, despite his efforts to suppress it.


	30. CHAPTER 61: HOME

A trio of brightly colored Crimean Royal Knights welcomed them at the docks. They had a vast stretch of parchment rolled out on a table before them, with sea-smoothed stones holding down the corners. A cold northerly wind blew the salty air in their faces, and two wore heavy cloaks over their armor.

The third, however, was cloak-less, and his red cheeks matched his hair and plating. Kieran jumped out of his chair when he saw them, knocking it to the ground. “Well if it isn’t the-!”

Ike cut him off with a stern look and a slicing gesture across his neck.

Kieran wasn’t known for his quick-wittedness, but he managed to pick up on this in time. “-my old rival!” he finished, jaunting down the boardwalk to throw an arm around Oscar. “Hey, guys!” Kieran called back to the other knights. “This is Oscar—the one I was telling you about!”

“The mercenary?” one of the knights replied, casting his curious eyes over the ragtag band. Kieran palmed himself in the forehead. Soren sighed in annoyance.

“Then these must be the mercenaries who-” the other knight began.

By now the mercenaries had reached the table. Ike threw his hands down on its surface in a business-like way. It was enough to cut off the knight’s conclusion. “We’re nobody,” he said firmly.

“Uh, we’re recording the names of the returnees…” the knight faltered. Both he and his comrade looked young. Their faces were still pockmarked and sprouting sparse hairs. In the gaps of their helmets, their cheeks looked rounded and boyish—clearly new recruits.

Ike turned to Kieran, ignoring the young knight’s effort to explain. “Mind if we slip in?” he asked with a conspiratorial smile.

“On one condition.” Kieran returned, wearing the violent, toothy grin that always made him look like he was challenging a wild beast and loving every second of it. “You’ve all got to stay with me tonight! We have so much to catch up on!”

“But Kieran.” Oscar escaped his friend’s vicelike arm. “Won’t you be staying in the local barracks?”

Kieran palmed his forehead a second time.

Titania chuckled under her breath. “Good to see you again, Kieran,” she said. “It’s heartening to see that some things don’t change.”

“Tell you what,” Ike spoke up. “Point us to the best inn in town, and you can buy us all drinks.”

Kieran grinned again. “I know just the place!”

The band of mercenaries—with the addition of their merry friend—sauntered past the table just as the breeze picked up and the paper escaped its stone weights. One knight rushed to hold it down while the other watched them pass, apparently at a loss. “Wait…Sir Kieran!” he called.

Kieran seemed to remember his duties, but he also didn’t seem to care. He waved over his shoulder. “Just take their names. You know what to do.” The knight reluctantly turned back the line of deportees. “Yeesh,” Kieran said less loudly, putting his arms around Boyd’s and Rolf’s shoulders as if they were his own brothers. “New recruits need so much hand-holding.”

After spending the evening with Kieran and listening to the latest gossip about Crimea’s reconstruction, the mercenaries slept soundly at the inn. Before he took his leave, Kieran vowed he would not go out of his way to report the Greil Mercenaries’ return to Crimea, but he said he would tell the truth without hesitation if asked directly by a superior. Ike accepted this, saying he would never ask him to sacrifice his honor as a Royal Knight.

They embarked south, enjoying the crisp air and fresh snow that always melted within a couple days. They passed through Delbray hold while avoiding the castle or any of the major cities. For obvious reasons, they didn’t call upon Lucia or Geoffrey. When they reached the jut of the Marhaut range, they took a pass southwest, and the volcanic hot springs offered respite from the snow that now collected day after day.

They were giving central Crimea—especially Melior—a wide berth. Arbor was still far away, but Rhys sent letters to his parents to notify them of their progress, and eventually the nervous son received a reply. After this, they travelled more leisurely, doing whatever mercenary work they could find as they went. They didn’t use false names, as Ike and Boyd had facetiously suggested, but they never introduced themselves as the ‘Greil Mercenaries’ if they could avoid it. They never sought privileges or accolades as the heroes of the Mad King’s War, and they never invoked Elincia’s name as a close friend.

With little chance to groom themselves during their deportation, the mercenaries now used these winter weeks to coach their unshaven faces into something more appealing, yet unfamiliar. Gatrie grew a full beard and Shinon a mustache and goatee. Boyd stopped shaving too, and although Ike told them they didn’t need to change their appearances or disguise themselves in any way, it quickly turned into game.

Mia pulled out the fake mustache she’d used in the Telgam Games, and sometimes she would wear it and introduce herself as Percival when they ran errands in town. Rolf wanted to shave his head on either side, leaving a mohawk, but Oscar forbid it, saying he would catch cold. Mist, who’d been growing her hair for months, began wearing it in two braids that bounced around her shoulders. Eventually even Ike started to participate, lettings his hair become longer and unruly and growing a short beard.

Titania, Oscar, and Rhys saw no point in changing their appearances either for fun or to avoid recognition, and of course Soren didn’t participate in the charade. He couldn’t sprout even a hint of beard if he wanted to, and growing out his hair would be superfluous considering it was already so long it reached the small of his back. But neither did Soren want to cut it, afraid he would look even more like a child if he did. For now it was easy enough to clean and could be kept out of the way. Each morning he tied it into two ponytails behind his neck, which then came together into a single tail behind his shoulders. For an added measure, the tied a fourth cord around the ends to stop them from fanning out.

The only time he trimmed his hair was to keep the shorter sections in the front manageable, but he wasn’t about to cut them into bangs either. He’d learned long ago that concealment was an indicator of guilt and disguise an indicator of monstrosity. He had no choice but to display his Brand, and therefore he would be recognizable no matter what he did.

That being said, recognition was rarely a problem the mercenaries faced. Very few people seemed to recall or care about the sell-swords who’d fought at Elincia’s side—and those who did care had incredibly skewed perceptions of the mercenaries.

One day they encountered just such a person. An artist was hawking ‘signed’ illustrations of the mercenaries on the side of the street, and the representations were exaggerated to say the least. Ike looked twice his age, three times as muscular, and half as intelligent—like some sort of barbarian hero. Mist, meanwhile, was a goddess in flowing robes, Titania some sort of fire demon whose hair burned Daein soldiers with tendrils of flame, and Gatrie a giant heaving a horse over his head with both hands.

Soren tried not to look at the pictures of himself, of which there were few (clearly he wasn’t a best-seller), but he couldn’t help but see the one in front. He was depicted as some sort of wraith, lost in inky blackness. In the picture, he was older, taller, and without any sort of mark on his forehead. 

Some of the mercenaries laughed and purchased copies of their own portraits. When the artist overhead the guffawing and peered more closely at his customers’ faces, his eyes bulged and his larynx moved up and down as if he were struggling to swallow.

Ike was clearly embarrassed (but not entirely offended) as he sorted through the various prints of himself. Soren sighed and skimmed through the images. Eventually he came to a small box covered in a red cloth, and the artist tried to stop him. Finally finding his voice, he squeaked: “That’s not for children!”

Flipping through the hand-sized paintings, Soren realized why they hadn’t been displayed up front. The first print depicted what appeared to be Lucia having intercourse with her brother Geoffrey. In the next, Geoffrey was entangled with none other than Queen Elincia, and in the third, Elincia inhabited a similar knot with Ike. A strange, sick panic seized him at the sight, but reminding himself these images were not evidence of reality, Soren flipped through the rest more quickly. They were more of the same: heroes of the war, nobles, mercenaries, and even laguz. Sometimes three or more were drawn into the scene, and sometimes the laguz were in their shifted forms. There were no images of him and Ike together, and only when this thought registered in his brain did he realize that was what he’d been looking for.

Soren had no desire to continue perusing the pornography, so he closed the box and glanced up at the artist, who looked equal parts embarrassed and defeated. Then he passed the box to Ike. “You may want to see this.”

Ike blushed deeply when he saw the images of himself. Stepping up to the artist, he growled in a low voice: “Burn these.”

“B-b-but,” he attempted to defend himself. “It’s j-just art. The p-p-people have a right…” Ike’s glare stunned him into silence.

“Don’t use our names again.”

The artist bobbed his head frantically.

“And show some respect for your queen.”

“O-of course. It’s b-because we l-love her…” His lips buttoned closed and his eyes widened when he realized he wasn’t winning this argument, at least not against Ike.

Turning to the rest of the company, Ike announced, “Come on, everyone. We’re done here.”

Oblivious to what had just occurred, the mercenaries sauntered away still laughing about the pictures they’d acquired. Despite the artist’s fear-stricken expression as he watched them leave, Soren had little doubt he would continue selling his full array of prints and paintings, regardless of Ike’s threatening.

The Greil Mercenaries crossed the Einst River into southern Crimea on the longest night of the year. Here they encountered hundreds of people celebrating with bonfires, dancing, magicians, snowball fights, and salty festival food. Stalls were stationed along the riverbanks, wishing lanterns sailed on the cold water, and couples ice-skated on a pond nearby. Musicians played their instruments with blue fingers and lips, but no one seemed to mind the cold.

Twisting through this merriment was a parade of priests who chanted and sang prayers for Ashera, Goddess of the Dawn, to summon the sun and lengthen the days again. People spilled coins into collection tins held by contrite-looking novices, while well-bundled children ran past their legs.

After enjoying the festival for a bit, the mercenaries moved on, intent on finding warm beds in the next town. On the way, they passed a temple glowing with the light of a thousand candles. A choir of voices was clearly audible, rising through the oak doors and stained-glass windows. Soren was surprised by the memories of Temple Asic that surfaced in his mind.

Soon they reached the town, which was still awake but far quieter than the festival grounds. Ike, Titania, and Soren went into the inn to purchase lodgings while the others unpacked the horses in the stables and explored the street. The windows and front desk were adorned with holiday trinkets, icons, and statuettes of the goddess. Sprigs of herbs hung from the ceiling, and the railing leading upstairs was draped in garlands.

Despite the warm atmosphere, the innkeeper behind the desk had a dour and distinctly un-festive visage. He was tall but stood with a hunch. His clothes were plain, hardly more than a smock, and his hair was thin and lank around his shoulders. Behind the desk was an entire wall of books, and he had a magnifying glass hanging from a cord around his neck like an odd piece of jewelry.

“We have a party of eleven,” Ike began, “We’ll take whatever rooms you still have for the night.”

The man didn’t greet them or show any sign of welcome. He ran his gaze first over their weapons and then their faces. His eyes ended their journey on Soren, and there they stayed. “No,” he declared gruffly.

“You have no more rooms left?” Titania asked doubtfully. After all, this was a large inn, and both the stable and the adjoining lounge were half empty.

“I didn’t say that,” he returned.

“You won’t rent to us?” Ike asked, his tone serious.

“I don’t house _mutts_ ,” he answered, and his eyes were still on Soren, whose blood suddenly ran cold. “Bad luck. Bad business.”

Soren was acutely aware of Titania standing nearby and the dozen strangers lounging in the next room. He imagined the entire company would soon know the truth. His life with the mercenaries would end, and it would be due to a single ill-tempered innkeeper.

“Be reasonable,” Ike growled, “Our coin is as good as anyone’s.”

“Where’s your holiday spirit?” Titania asked, her arms crossed.

The innkeeper finally removed his gaze from Soren and glared at Ike and Titania instead. “You mercenaries?” he asked.

“Yes,” Ike answered, “As a matter of fact, we are.”

After thinking a moment, he declared: “I ‘pose you can stay, and any other man, woman, or child I ‘prove. But not this one.” He pointed straight at Soren’s face, and he had to fight the urge to retreat. 

“That’s completely unreasonable!” Titania exclaimed.

“How dare y-” Ike snarled. His fists were clenched and his eyes filled with righteous fury, but Soren cut him off before he could finish:

“It’s fine. I will leave.”

“No, you won’t,” Ike shot back. Turning his ire on the innkeeper, he leaned across the counter. “You’ll rent to all of us, or none of us.” Gesturing at Soren, he added, “This here’s just a regular guy and a damn good mercenary.”

Soren wished Ike would stop. He didn’t want to make a scene. He just wanted to slip away. “Ike, don’t-”

The innkeeper was unaffected. “Are you blind, boy, or just stupid,” he sneered. “Can’t you see his sin-ugly mark?”

That was it. Soren was finished. He felt he would rather die than stay here, listening to this a moment longer. But neither could he move his feet.

“So that’s it?” Ike replied through gritted teeth. “You have something against people with cute little tattoos? Goddess, that’s petty.” He shook his head as if disappointed. “It may not be my cup of tea, but you don’t see me criticizing your greasy mug, do you? You’ve got rooms; we’ve got coin. Are we doing business or not?”

They glared at each other for several seconds, but the innkeeper didn’t relent. “Get out then,” he hissed. “I don’t need your trouble or your blood money, wretched mercenaries.”

“Consider us gone.” Ike twisted on the spot. Soren found he could finally move and was right behind him.

“The nerve of some people,” Titania declared, strutting out as well.

They met Mist, Rolf, and Oscar, just outside. “What happened?” asked Oscar, clearly detecting Ike and Titania’s rage (and perhaps Soren’s mortification).

“We’re not staying here,” Ike answered. “The owner’s not too fond of mercenaries.”

“The worst kind of religious sort,” Titania added by way of explanation. “I’m sure he’s the type who thinks Crimea was freed thanks to his own prayers rather than the spilled blood of his compatriots.”

Oscar sighed. “Well, there will always be people like that. Rolf, Mist, let’s go get the horses again.”

“I’ll help you,” Titania offered.

Ike and Soren followed at a distance. Soren’s mind was still reeling from the confrontation, and he felt both grateful and unnerved that neither Ike nor Titania had mentioned he was to blame.

He supposed this confirmed his long-held suspicion that Titania knew what he was. Perhaps Greil had told her years ago, when he’d first joined the mercenaries, or perhaps she’d merely known the signs. (She’d lived in Gallia for five years, after all.)

“Are you okay?” Ike asked, stopping by a horse’s stall that was not their own. The others were making themselves busy several doors down.

Soren was certainly not okay. In fact, he felt like the scared, desperate kid he’d once been—shooed off street corners and kicked out wherever he dared enter. But he was not that child anymore, and he barred his true feelings from his face and voice. “There was always a chance this would happen,” he answered, “that we would meet someone whose prejudices are not outweighed by respect for or fear of a mercenary company.”

Ike frowned. “He didn’t say those things because Titania and I weren’t intimidating enough,” he countered, “He said them because he was a jerk. Most people aren’t like that. You can’t let it get to you.”

Soren peered into Ike’s eyes to see if he truly believed what he was saying. “You’re wrong. Everyone is exactly like him.”

“How can you say that?” Ike looked genuinely surprised. “After all the places we’ve been, the people we’ve met, the things we’ve seen…”

“Because I know what my life was like before the Greil Mercenaries,” Soren answered firmly, “and the world hasn’t changed.”

Ike seemed disturbed by this claim. “Maybe the world has changed,” he proposed in a quiet voice. “Maybe it’s changing right now.”

Soren released a small sad sigh. “I suppose I will find out… You’ll have to explain what happened to the others. They’ll know it was my fault, and they’ll know why… You should terminate my contract. I’m a hindrance to the functioning of the company.”

“What?” Ike barked an awkward laugh. “We’re not losing you because of that cheese-brain!”

“Ike!” Titania called from the entrance. “We’re going to find the others!”

“We’ll catch up!” Ike assured with a wave. Soren found himself wondering what Titania would tell the others when she found them. He must have been creasing his eyebrows, because Ike poked him gently between the eyes. “You don’t have to worry so much.”

“We have had this discussion before,” Soren observed, not willing to argue again.

Ike nodded. “And I will always keep your secret. Always. There’s no need to tell the others what that creep said.”

“But Titania…”

Ike smiled comfortingly. “Sometimes I think Titania is wiser than the both of us put together. I trust her not to have loose lips.”

“Has she ever…asked you about me?” Soren surprised himself by asking.

“No.” Ike shook his head. “And I would tell you, if anyone ever did.”

For some reason, this was immensely comforting, and he trusted Ike was telling the truth. He finally started to calm down.

“Ready to rejoin the others?”

“As long as they will have me,” he answered softly.

“We’ll have you,” Ike assured. They exited the stable, and when they were outside he added, in a lighter tone: “I meant what I said by the way.”

“Which part?”

“It’s not ugly, your mark,” Ike explained. “It’s nice. I like it.” He kept walking, but Soren had frozen in his tracks.

He’d been so distraught, he had hardly paid attention to Ike’s rebuttal. “You called it a ‘cute little tattoo’,” he recalled, suddenly embarrassed. His cheeks felt hot despite the freezing air. After wondering (and trying not to wonder) for so long how Ike saw him—what he thought about his height, his body, his blood, and his accursed Brand—‘cute’ was a possibility that had never occurred to him in his wildest dreams. He couldn’t even decide whether it was good or bad.

Ike laughed and turned around. “I know it’s not actually a tattoo, but…” he finished with a shrug.

Soren forced his legs to move. Ike walked beside him as if expecting a response. “I thought you were merely mocking him, but now I see you are mocking me as well,” he finally managed to say.

“Not at all!” Ike pouted. “You wouldn’t be you without it.”

Soren had no idea how to respond to that, but he eventually settled on: “…No, I suppose not.” For a moment, he entertained the possibility of pointing out some aspect of Ike’s appearance he appreciated, but in the end, he couldn’t work up the courage.

They neared Arbor the next day, and Rhys stepped onto the road that would take him to his parents’ village. “I will return to the fort in a couple days,” he said by means of farewell.

“Nonsense,” Ike replied, stepping onto the road with him. “I’ve never met your folks.”

“And it’s been some time since I last paid my respects,” Titania added, joining Rhys on the opposite side.

“And you said you had an old staff to show me!” Mist chirruped.

“Well if everyone’s going,” Boyd said, trailing after her. “I don’t want to have to reclaim the fort myself. There were rats last time!”

At this, everyone started down the road, and Rhys grew flushed and sweaty. “No really, we haven’t the room for so much company!”

“We’ll camp out,” Gatrie offered with a grin, “or use the barn if you’re parents still have one. Can’t be worse than the last inn we stayed at—the one with the bed lice?”

“That was weeks ago, Gatrie,” Rolf corrected.

“Feels like yesterday,” the big man replied with a shiver.

Titania steered Rhys to the front while her steed walked beside her. “It’ll be fine,” she consoled him, and Rhys didn’t protest again.

Rhys’s parents lived in a cottage at the edge of town. The house was secluded and tumbledown, but that could be said for the whole village. Rhys grew more nervous as they got closer, and Soren wondered if he was embarrassed. “Big crowds aren’t good for them,” he mumbled, casting his eyes over the mercenaries.

“Just Titania, Soren, Mist, and me then,” Ike replied cheerily. “Everyone else can start setting up camp at the base of that hill there.”

“No,” Rhys cut in, and Soren was surprised to see his anxious eyes darted straight to him. “Maybe just you and Titania.”

“Of course.” Titania placed a comforting hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Lead the way.”

Rhys led the pair to the cottage, where smoke was rising gently from the chimney. Soren turned back to the others, suddenly uncomfortable. Despite working together for just shy of a decade, Rhys didn’t want him to darken his family’s doorstep. This was a precious reminder that Ike was wrong: he couldn’t count on the others accepting him as he did.

“Rolf and I are going to buy some supplies for dinner,” Mist said, distracting him from his thoughts. “We could use another pair of hands.”

Soren turned his gaze to where Shinon and Gatrie were fighting over a scrap of canvas trying to put the tent up. “Better than staying here,” he answered and followed them down the road.

The next day, Ike convinced the others to chop wood, shovel snow, scoop grain, draw water, and repair a crooked gate before they could leave. Rhys was flighty and embarrassed whenever he emerged, but most of the time he stayed indoors with his parents, whose faces Soren never saw. Rhys kept them away from the bulk of the mercenaries, and when they did come outside, Soren made himself scarce. If he wasn’t good enough to meet a couple of old codgers, then they were certainly not worth his time. When a few of Rhys’s aunts, uncles, and cousins showed up to welcome back their long-lost relative, Soren disappeared again (although it meant missing dinner).

He was glad, therefore, when the mercenaries finally departed. Rhys stayed behind, saying he would reunite with the mercenaries in a couple days. “We’ll miss you!” Titania called.

“Travel safely,” Ike added.

“Good riddance,” Soren muttered, not caring who heard him.

The fort’s woodland path was surprisingly not overgrown with brambles, which tended to grow each year if the mercenaries didn’t cut them back. It was also marked with a road sign that declared ‘Greil’s Retreat’ in white letters. The wood and paint were already faded, and Soren could only assume Elincia had had the sign installed shortly after the end of the war and the mercenaries’ subsequent disappearance.

Undisturbed snow was piled on top of the sign and tiny icicles dangled from the bottom. The path itself was clear except for the prints of mice and weasels. As they continued, they saw the pawprints of a fox and the trail of a hunter and two dogs, but there was no indication that anyone was going to and from the fort, which was a good sign it would be unoccupied.

When the trees thinned and the familiar walls appeared before them, the mercenaries released puffs of steam into the air with their laughter. “It’s good to be home!” Gatrie sighed.

The fort was indeed empty, and Soren wondered if Elincia had been sending regular patrols to keep it clear. “We should not stay long,” Soren advised Ike, “In case the queen’s spies check in on this place.”

“It’s strange to think of Elincia having spies,” Ike chuckled in reply.

“Well, she most certainly does.”

“If she has spies visiting here, couldn’t they have done something about the pests?” Mist interjected with a moan. “There’s more than last time!”

Ike grimaced and shook some rat droppings off an abandoned plate in the cupboard. “Well, there’s nothing to be done now but clean the place. Titania, Oscar, go into town for supplies, and keep an ear out for work while you’re there.”

“Yes, Commander!” Titania saluted.

In the days that followed, Titania, Shinon, and Gatrie got a job guarding a local mine whose foreman had stumbled across a gold vein. Meanwhile Soren, Ike, Oscar, and Boyd went on a quick mission to oust a bandit crew squatting in a noble’s vacant summer mansion. When this was done, Oscar, Boyd, and Rolf investigated claims of poachers on another noble’s lands. Mist visited the homes of sick and injured folk in villages around Arbor, sometimes with Ike or Mia as a guard. Rhys returned from his parents’ house, and he took a job with Soren, Titania, Gatrie, and Shinon to disrupt a false tolling operation nearby. (Apparently the local army outpost was getting a cut of the bandits’ earnings, so they hadn’t intervened themselves). And finally, Ike, Oscar, and Mia tracked down some noble’s heirloom that had been stolen during the war and traded hands several times since.

These jobs took them to towns and roads they knew well, and they encountered many common folk who recognized them and welcomed them back. Some knew that they’d fought in the war, but others thought they’d been killed by Daein soldiers in the first days of the invasion. All were glad to have the mercenaries among them again, and Ike tried to aid them as much as the landowners who offered better-paying jobs.

“Rumors will spread,” Soren warned Ike after he returned from the heirloom mission. “A royal promenade could come up that path any day now.”

He, Ike, and Mist were eating their lunch atop the once-new watch tower, but now the wooden beams were gray and splintering from age and neglect. The trio had lugged a tea kettle and ceramic pot of soup up here, along with three blankets and their own bundled bodies. A picnic lunch with a view—it was something they might have done when they were children. But here they were now, and despite his warnings, Soren didn’t really want this moment to end.

Ike was following Soren’s gaze to the mouth of the trail. “We’ll finish the jobs we have lined up,” he finally answered. “It’s still winter, and no one’s going anywhere fast. We have time.”

Mist was dozing off with a mug of tea between her feet and her arms tight across her chest. With her cheek resting on her knee, she hummed something that sounded like agreement.

“We could always let the queen find us,” Soren proposed tentatively. “If she wants to.” He had told Bastian their location in his most recent letter, and although he hoped the old spymaster was keeping his promise and didn’t share this information with Elincia, Soren couldn’t be certain. “Who knows—perhaps she will have work for us.”

Ike winced. “She has her armies of her own now.”

“There are some things that regular soldiers cannot be trusted to do,” Soren countered, “Take that toll bridge for example.”

Ike shook his head. “I don’t want to be Crimea’s secret operatives. Sounds like a mess we don’t need to get into.”

“I suppose…” Soren wished he could agree more wholeheartedly.

Once again Mist hummed her agreement. Her heavy lids rose and fell sleepily.

She and Soren were done eating, but Ike was not. He pushed aside his blanket to free his hands and tossed the edges so they covered Soren’s lap and Mist’s back but kept one corner across his legs. His exposed neck didn’t seem to mind the cold. Soren watched him stir a stick of bread into his soup to saturate it with the broth.

Then he leaned back to take in the view. There really wasn’t much of one, because the surrounding trees had grown so tall. This old fort was lost to the world, and he felt oddly safe here. Perhaps because of this, he couldn’t restrain the words that next came to his tongue: “Crimea could have been yours, Ike,” he said. _Elincia could have been yours,_ he didn’t say.

Ike gave him a confused glance while he chewed. “What?”

“Why are we avoiding the queen?”

“You know why.”

“You gave up your lordship for this.”

Ike turned his face to the view Soren had just been appreciating, and then turned it to the fort where an occasional voice and muted clatter of the other mercenaries echoed inside. “This is enough.”

Soren was considering a new tactic, some way of pressing Ike for the information he wanted, when Mist stirred. Raising her head, she yawned and shook it gently. “Brother, I think Soren is trying to ask you why you didn’t confess your undying love for Queen Elincia and stay with her in Melior.”

Ike snorted and choked on his soup simultaneously. Sputtering, he wiped his face and moaned, “Not you too!”

Annoyed, Soren said nothing. He didn’t like being spoken for, even if what Mist had said was the truth.

“Look, I know what a lot of the troops were saying during the war,” Ike finally explained, having composed himself. “But it was never like that between us. And I know a lot of the Crimean soldiers wanted me to keep leading them after the war was over, but… Being general was one thing. Being some sort of lord, being Commander of the Royal Knights, being… No.” He shook his head. “I never wanted that.”

Soren glanced at him doubtfully. “It would have been in your power to refuse without this charade.”

This response seemed to distress Ike, and Mist leapt to his aid, waking up entirely now. “Soren, Ike and I have talked about this before. Frankly, we don't know anything about politics, and this always seemed like the best way to remove ourselves without the possibility of being pulled back in or manipulated by anyone at court.”

Soren supposed Mist’s explanation made sense. He still wasn’t certain of Ike’s true feelings toward Elincia—and perhaps he never would—but had to admit hearing his denial was somewhat mollifying. “Very well. If this is how the company is to proceed, I will continue to support it.”

Ike resumed eating, and Mist rested her head again, although she didn’t drift off to sleep this time. Soren willed himself to relaxed as well. The warm food in his stomach and nest of blankets around him kept him comfortable despite the soft flakes falling beyond the shelter of the watchtower. _Perhaps this is enough…_ he dared think, borrowing Ike’s sentiment.

After almost three weeks, the mercenaries packed to leave again. They had resupplied, rested, and earned a bit of coin here. They were leaving Arbor better off than they’d found it, and that seemed to raise everyone’s spirits. Titania had lined up a job in the adjacent hold, so they had somewhere to go and the promise of gold when they got there.

Soren was feeling so at ease, he hardly noticed when Rhys asked him to join him in the library before they departed. He was fidgeting with his hands, and there was a sheen of sweat on his brow that Soren had come to take for granted. He forgot to be suspicious until the moment Rhys withdrew a knife from his sleeve. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

The healer pushed aside a stack of books on the nearest shelf and stabbed the blade into the mortar between the stones. “There’s something hidden here,” Rhys answered, continuing to wiggle the knife.

“I assumed as much,” Soren replied, eyeing the powder that fell away. Clearly it had been chipped before. “But what is it, and why? Does Ike know about this?”

Rhys didn’t answer, and a moment later, the stone came free. Placing it on the shelf, Rhys withdrew a small burlap bag and sighed, “It’s still here.”

Soren didn’t get too close, although his curiosity was certainly piqued. “You put that there?”

Rhys nodded once and turned to him. He held out the bag, but there was something hesitant about the way he extended his arm—as if part of him wanted to stuff it back into the wall and pretend this had never happened. “Greil said to give this to you.”

Soren stared at Rhys a moment, trying to read his face and voice. Finding nothing useful, he took the bag and loosened the drawstring. Inside was a letter and another bag. The letter had his name on it in Greil’s handwriting and the words “In the event of my death” below that. The seal was broken, but it was hard to tell whether the wax had been undone by age or curious fingers. The small bag was made of gray-green silk, and Soren immediately recognized it as having once belonged to Elena. “What is this?”

“Coins I think,” Rhys answered. “I didn’t look inside.”

The weight and feel of the silk bag were enough to confirm Rhys’s claim, but it still didn’t answer Soren’s question. “But you read the letter,” he accused.

Rhys glanced down contritely. “War was upon us. Greil was acting strangely. We were burning records and taking everyone’s contracts. Then he suddenly gave me this bag, and I… I saw what he wrote before he put it inside. ‘In the event of my death’—how could I not read it?”

“Then you hid it in a wall rather than simply giving it to me?” Soren queried, hardly believing Rhys had it in him to act so surreptitiously.

“He must have known it never got to you…” 

“Well what did it say?” Soren asked, crossing his arms and resisting the urge to read it himself. Rhys was just as much of a conundrum as the letter, and he was the one that had to be dealt with first.

“Just read it.”

“I’d rather you tell me,” Soren countered, “and explain why you did not bring it to my attention the last time we were here, or indeed, any of the days since Greil’s demise.”

Rhys just shook his head.

Giving in, Soren finally unfolded the letter. The inside flap read, “For Ike’s sake, wait til I’m dead,” and the words were enough to give him pause. That had been Greil’s strategy to keep him from reading it before he passed. Soren wondered if it would have been enough to belay his curiosity. Clearly it hadn’t worked on Rhys, and Soren shot him an annoyed glare. Then, he pushed open the last fold and continued reading:

_Soren, I’ll keep this simple. If Daein is in Crimea, they’ll be coming for me and I can’t guarantee I’ll make it. If you’re reading this, means I didn’t. Maybe it’s my time, and I’ve made my peace a long time ago, but I hate to think of Ike and Mist losing another parent. Elena dying was hard enough, especially on Ike, and losing you made the whole thing worse. So now I’m ~~ord~~ begging you not to run again. That boy loved you as much as anyone. Don’t know if you remember, but he held your hand every night those first few months. After Elena, Ike was the one with nightmares. When they passed, he didn’t talk about her or you again. ~~Look, I’m not accu~~ Just don’t leave that boy again, got it? Or I’ll haunt you worse than all your fears. Now, here’s something I should have given you a long time ago. X Greil_

Untying the tightly knotted silk, Soren ran his fingers through the copper coins inside. There were a couple silvers in the mix, and yet the entire haul was hardly worth more than the silk itself. Soren suspected he knew what this paltry sum was, but to be certain, he pulled out the tiny note floating among the coins. It looked older than the letter.

_Soren, we’ve been safekeeping these for you. Family doesn’t take family’s money. Keep up the good work. X Greil & Elena_

These were the wages from the tannery that he’d given Greil for almost two years. Soren marveled at the bizarreness of seeing them again. Greil and Elena had pretended to accept the payments, Elena had died, Soren had left, and yet Greil had held onto them all that time. He couldn’t help but shake his head at the old man’s ideals.

Finally Soren looked up at Rhys again. “Well, isn’t this the part where you bleed excuses like a stuck pig? Or do you need me to get you started?”

“I’m sorry.” Rhys shook his head. “I shouldn’t have read the note, and I shouldn’t have hidden it. I disobeyed Commander Greil’s order, and I was a poor comrade to you.”

“I don’t care how you feel,” Soren shot back. “I want to know why.”

“I was afraid.”

“You’re still talking about your feelings.”

“I know. I’m trying to explain.” Rhys dragged his hand along the back and down side of his neck. “I was afraid what Greil said was true, and that he would be killed. I was afraid the company would be torn apart. If Ike was to become our leader… I thought the note indicated a crime against Ashera. I sought to protect him by smothering it.”

“ _A crime against Ashera_ ,” Soren repeated. He hated those words almost as much as ‘Branded’. He took a step forward, and his hands curled into fists. Although he couldn’t look very threatening considering their height difference, Rhys faltered. He stepped back so his spine met the bookshelf, and his head sunk into his shoulders.

“Th-the Goddess defines love as that which occurs between a man and a woman,” he rushed to explain. “I had a bad feeling about Ike…and I thought the letter might be evidence that...” His voice trailed away until he shook his head, clearly embarrassed.

At first Soren was just surprised. But then he felt a tickle in his chest, and a moment later, he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. He wasn’t happy exactly, even though he was relieved. The anger was still there—perhaps even stronger than before—and yet, he couldn’t help but laugh at his own misunderstanding. “We were children,” he finally spat.

“I realize that. I am sorry.” Rhys clutched his head. “But if Greil still believed- And Ike had always seemed- No, it’s no excuse, but- Do you remember… It must have been your second year with us. Shinon dared Ike and Boyd to sneak into a _brothel_ of all places. They were trying to persuade you to join them.”

“I remember,” Soren growled. It wasn’t a fond memory. Ike had been thirteen, Boyd fourteen. It’d been a hot, hormonal summer for the pair, but not for Soren. He’d been marking his height for over a year by then and painstakingly noting every way in which he was different. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I could never forget what I’d heard,” Rhys continued. “You were adamant in your rejection of their plan, so Boyd was trying to entice you with the promise of adult women. But Ike touted the merits of male and female prostitutes alike. The fact that he would even _think_ such a thing…” He shook his head as if the scandal still rocked him. “I put a stop to the plan, but from that moment on…”

Soren had been so absorbed by his own refusal that day, he hadn’t paid attention to what Ike had been saying. In retrospect, Rhys was right—and yet, he was also very wrong. Suddenly thinking of Roark, old anger mixed with new. Soren’s fingers twitched in their eagerness to seize Rhys’s collar, but he resisted the urge. “Let’s get one thing straight: Commander Ike can love whoever he wants. Nothing he will ever do will ever be a ‘crime against Ashera’, and if that’s what you think, he doesn’t need the likes of you looking out for him.”

“O-of course, I-”

Soren’s rage wouldn’t leave him. “You’ve always wanted everyone to believe you’re so pious, so pure of heart, but you are just as full of hate and bitterness as anyone.”

“That’s not true-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” Soren turned to leave and was nearly to the door when he heard Rhys call in an airy wheeze:

“I know what it’s like to be a crime against the Goddess.”

Halting in his tracks, Soren looked over his shoulder in time to see Rhys slide down the bookshelf until his butt hit the floor and his torso fell limp. He’d actually passed out from the argument.

Soren was considering leaving him for someone else to find, but then he heard Titania’s voice in the hallway: “Rhys! Soren! We’re almost ready to leave. Rhys! Where are you? Soren!”

“Library!” Soren finally called, and Titania soon appeared.

“Picking a book for the road?” she joked, but her face fell when she saw Rhys’s body.

“He wasn’t feeling well,” Soren lied.

Titania flew to Rhys’s side. When Soren tried to leave again, she stopped him. “Help me take him to bed.”

Rhys was frail and Titania strong. She needed no help carrying him (not that Soren would have been much help anyway), but he resigned himself to the task of holding doors for her as she brought the healer to his room.

Setting him on the mattress, Titania brushed the damp hair from his forehead. “He’s burning up. I told him he was pushing himself too hard! Go tell Ike we need to delay our departure. I’ll fetch some water.”

Soren obeyed. Ike was sympathetic when he heard the news, and he declared the mercenaries would stay at the base another night. They unloaded the horses, and Soren put the letters and bag of coins in his own pack.

Looking at Elena’s signature at the bottom of the tiny note, Soren wondered for a moment if Ike and Mist would want to see their mother’s handwriting. But he banished the thought almost as soon as he conjured it. Such a thing would only lead to confusion and possibly make the siblings heartsore and morose. Taking the note back out of the bag, he decided to burn it instead. Then he took another look at Greil’s letter. There was no reason to keep it either. He’d already gotten Greil’s message, and he’d already determined not to abandon Ike. The letter was nothing but a liability, and with this thought in mind, Soren decided to toss it into the fire too.

That evening, after accomplishing this task, Soren debated turning in for the night or going to Rhys’s room. Part of him never wanted to speak to the healer again, and another part of him wanted to march in there and demand to know what he’d meant with those final words. He had yet to come to a decision when Titania found him.

“Rhys is doing better now,” she began. “He told me you were having an argument when it happened.”

Soren mentally cursed Rhys’s impulse to share his feelings in order to feel better. It was terribly inconvenient. “What of it?”

Titania narrowed her eyes. “He said you were arguing about Ike.”

Soren glared in return. “And did he ask you to weigh in on the subject?”

“No, he would tell me no more than that.”

“Then it is none of your business.”

Titania crossed her arms. “He asked me to get you. He wants to finish whatever row you’ve started. But you’d better take it easy on him.” She raised a finger in warning. “He’s still recovering.”

Soren gave her a withering look. “We’ll see about that.” His internal debate now resolved, he headed toward Rhys’s room. Since Titania’s message had been conveyed, he was annoyed to feel her hand on his shoulder.

“Wait. Just, wait.” Her voice had become softer, and her face looked suddenly older in the candlelight. “I don’t know what you could be arguing about, but… Just know that I spent years jumping at the drop of a hat to defend Greil’s honor. I would do anything to enforce the esteem I thought he deserved. I believed no one could ever be as loyal to him as I was, which felt good, but it was also…exhausting. And he never actually needed me to do it.”

“Your point?”

“My point is—” she released his shoulder “—don’t be like me.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.” Soren walked away before she could stop him again, but he couldn’t deny her words had struck a nerve.

When he considered the years Titania must have spent pining for Greil, it made his own feelings toward Ike seem pathetic and cliché. He had fallen for the man he’d dedicated his loyalty to, and just like Titania, he was doing nothing about it. As he walked, he wondered if Titania suspected his feelings and that was why she’d said what she did.

Shaking the thought away, he proceeded to Rhys’s room. Here he found the healer sitting in bed with a pillow against his back. “I didn’t think you’d come,” was his greeting.

Soren closed the door, walked as far as the bedside table, and folded his arms, waiting.

“We can’t leave things as we did. I want you to understand…”

Soren still said nothing. He refused to make this easier for him.

“I don’t want Ike to be ostracized, because I know myself what it is like to be lost from Ashera’s grace.”

Soren scoffed to convey his doubt.

Rhys took a steadying breath. “My parents are not frail; I am. They are first cousins, and I am an abomination. It is against Ashera’s will that I was conceived.”

This was not what Soren had expected to hear, but he refused to look sympathetic.

“They are sick; it’s not their fault.” Rhys continued, shaking his head. “My mother suffers from delusions and my father compulsions. My family is poor, the village small. Their only comfort was each other...” He paused as if waiting for Soren to reply.

“I don’t care about your parents’ problems,” he finally said, “and it has nothing to do with Ike.”

Rhys seemed to sink deeper into the pillow at his back. “Aren’t you repulsed by me?”

“No more than usual,” was Soren’s reply, but he couldn’t pretend Rhys’s words weren’t eerily familiar.

Rhys’s mouth parted slightly, but he did not respond.

“So you are ashamed of your parents and ashamed of yourself. You think your lovely mother goddess disapproves of you, so you’ve vowed to live by her will, is that it?”

“I do try to…”

“But you are not a priest; you’re a mercenary. You may save more lives than you take, but the latter isn’t zero. Not to mention you are clearly willing to lie and steal to suit your interests.”

“I didn’t stea-”

“If you don’t pretend to be a saint, you may be more satisfied with not being one,” he concluded.

“You don’t understand…”

“Open your eyes, Rhys,” Soren growled in frustration, and his next words slipped out before he was prepared to voice them: “When I was a kid, I had to kill a priest before he could kill me. There is no honor in being devout. It doesn’t make you a good person.”

Rhys’s lips curled inward, as if in regret.

“Think for yourself,” Soren ordered, letting his tongue run away with him since he’d come this far. “A person’s existence cannot be a crime, and I guarantee Ashera doesn’t care about you, me, your parents, Ike, or whoever Ike does or doesn’t share a bed with. So give up trying to save other people from sin.”

His words collapsed into a silence that the room swallowed like a dark, gaping mouth. The candles at Rhys’s bedside flickered in the draft and glinted off the water in his cup. Soren felt as if his rage was seeping down his arms and out of his body through tiny trembling bursts at the tips of his fingers.

“Soren…are you alright?” Rhys asked, and it was certainly not the chastised response Soren was hoping for.

“This is the last we will discuss this,” he said and was surprised to feel his throat tightening.

Rhys gave one solemn nod, and Soren left without another word. He encountered no one on the way back to his room, and that was a relief. He couldn’t explain to himself why his throat felt raw and his eyes stinging, and he certainly didn’t want anyone else noticing it.

The next morning, Soren felt better. He behaved toward Rhys as he would normally, and neither he nor Titania commented on the previous night’s argument. Rhys’s fever had passed, so the company departed without delay. When the fort was finally lost from view, Soren felt relieved. He was forced to conclude that the old base had played with his emotions just like it did everyone else, and he was glad to be rid of the strange vulnerability.


	31. CHAPTER 62: RESURRECTION

After four months traversing the Crimean countryside, coastlines, and sea of trees, the Greil Mercenaries turned their eyes to the sky, where a familiar black wyvern was drifting out of the sky like a falling leaf. Eventually it thumped to the earth. “There you are!” Haar greeted them, immediately stifling a yawn. His wyvern shuddered into a more comfortable position, and he slid from its back.

“If it isn’t Postmaster Haar,” Titania greeted him, while Ike clasped his arm.

“General Ike,” he acknowledged them in return, “Captain Titania.”

“How’s business?” Ike asked.

“As good as can be expected,” Haar smiled with a twinkle in his one good eye. “King Caineghis and Queen Elincia keep us busy.” Turning to his saddlebags, he pushed his wyvern’s wing out of the way and extracted a bundle of letters and small packages.

“Some of these are a couple months late,” he apologized, turning back to them.

“Well, we can’t claim to make it easy for you,” Titania replied with a wave of her hand.

“How’s the mercenary business going?” Haar made conversation as he distributed the mail. Soren held back, because he never had any.

“Steady,” Ike answered. “It keeps us on the move.”

“Maybe you’ll be moving south,” Haar said with a meaningful nod. He handed the last letter to Ike. Soren noticed the intricate seal and edged closer. The emblem was that of Gallia’s fighting lion, and the ribbon binding it was Gallian jade. “I’ve been looking for you, and this is the reason,” he said. “From Caineghis. Time sensitive.”

Ike broke the seal, screwed up his eyes, and ran them over the text. When he was finally done, he passed the letter off to Soren. “Thanks for the delivery,” he said to Haar, while Soren skimmed it. As expected, Caineghis was offering a job.

“Anything going out?” Haar asked the group. “You know my rate.”

The mercenaries dropped their bags, extracting coins and putting the finishing touches on crumpled letters. Meanwhile Ike gestured for Soren and Titania to step aside. He gave her the letter so she could read it herself.

“How intriguing,” was her response.

“Should I point out the fact we’re avoiding high profile jobs?” Soren noted.

“I trust King Gallia, and he even says right there that this job needs to be kept quiet,” Ike countered. “I think it’s safe.”

Soren nodded in consent. “Then we should go. We could use the coin.” His response was clearly a surprise to both of them.

“I certainly don’t have any objections,” Titania added in a rush.

Ike smiled. “Then we head south.”

“Hold Haar a moment.” Soren glanced over his shoulder where the retired dracoknight was chatting with the other mercenaries. “I’ll write a reply.”

According to Caineghis, a faction of Crimean soldiers at the border had become ‘overzealous’. They were overstepping their boundaries and forcing altercations with Gallian civilians. One elderly cat laguz had been slain, and rather than turn this into a diplomatic incident, Caineghis wanted the Greil Mercenaries to eliminate the outpost in the guise of bandits. If they caused enough damage to force the soldiers to leave, and a crisis could be avoided.

Any qualms Ike and the others had about fighting Crimean soldiers were resolved once they confirmed that no old friends from the war were among those stationed here. Knowing this, the job was business as usual.

The mercenaries enjoyed dressing as bandits, and some really threw themselves into the roles. Wearing animal skins and warpaint and weaving their hair into erratic styles seemed more fun to Gatrie and Mia than dressing for Elincia’s coronation (which both had thoroughly enjoyed).

Since Caineghis had advised killing as few soldiers as possible to avoid drawing undue attention, the mercenaries had to be strategic with their every attack. They harassed the outpost for over two weeks, and each time the Crimeans pursued, the mercenaries evaded them with traps. Over time, injured soldiers were shipped north until the outpost was operating with a minimal garrison. Eventually they couldn’t operate at all, and the job was officially complete. The regional beast lord saw the mercenaries paid, and they returned north themselves.

Back in Crimea, most of the mercenaries were intent on spending their fresh coin. They headed for the nearest city, and it was here they first saw the signs.

“WAR IN DAEIN!” the thick letters announced.

“REVOLT OR REVOLUTION?” they asked.

“BEGNION SCRAMBLES FOR CONTROL,” they admonished.

“What in Tellius happened?” Ike growled.

“Begnion overextended itself,” Soren observed in answer. “Perhaps we shouldn’t be surprised.”

Ike fixed him with a glare. “You said it was better with Begnion in charge.”

“This was always a possibility.” He shrugged, making light of this for Ike’s sake. “Time will tell if this revolution will be a fruitful one.”

Ike turned his glare on the public notice as if the paper might be intimidated into coughing up more information.

“We must not involve ourselves,” Soren reminded him.

“I know,” Ike grumbled back, clearly unsatisfied.

The revolution endured far longer than anyone expected. Elincia refused to get involved, despite her alliance with Sanaki or the fact that it was disrupting trade. Supposedly a single road from Oribes Bridge to Tor Holvar was being defended as a neutral zone for envoys and traders, but reports still came in that both sides raided it constantly. As for the laguz nations, they were also staying out of the conflict—even Kilvas, who’d sided with Daein in the Mad King’s War.

As the weeks passed, rumors spread that Ashnard’s lost heir was rising to power with the help of a mysterious ‘silver-haired maiden’, but then again, there were rumors about just about everything. Soren took every bit of news with a grain of salt, and he advised Ike to do so as well.

They remained in Crimea—always moving, always working—and three more months slipped by. As they traveled, it was relatively easy to gather information about the ongoing conflict in Daein, which the Crimean citizenry followed like a popular traveling play. They regaled each other with its twists and turns and eagerly awaited each new detail.

Depending on who was telling the story, the hero was either a silver-haired woman who worked miracles that inspired her revolutionaries to victory, or a certain ‘General Jarod’ of Begnion: a cunning and resourceful man who’d beaten the odds to become commander of the entire Begnion army in Daein at a young age.

“Jarod?” Ike asked no one in particular. “What happened to General Zelgius?”

“I believe he stepped down as warden of New Daein some time ago,” Titania recalled, smoothing back her hair, “not long after the end of the war. It is possible he didn’t condone Begnion’s tactics.”

“He would not retreat for personal reasons,” Soren interjected, recalling what he knew about the man. “He would only have done as he was commanded.”

“Perhaps he was demoted,” Titania suggested with a shrug.

“I find that unlikely.” Ike shook his head, and his enduring respect for the man was clear.

“Not much of a point in thinking about it now, is there?” Mia offered with palms raised. “And this Jarod fellow sounds about his equal, doesn’t he?”

“I heard someone say he’s like Ike,” Boyd added, although he seemed unsure whether it was a compliment, “A strong, young guy leading Begnion’s army to crush crazy Daeins…or whatever.”

Ike was obviously annoyed with the comparison.

“Well, I’ve heard the silver-haired maiden is like Ike,” Rolf chirruped. “She’s not highborn and she’s doing whatever she has to do to protect her people, and she even teamed up with her country’s lost heir.”

This comparison also seemed to frustrate Ike. “I would never team up with Ashnard’s son,” he growled. “He might be just as hungry for power as the Mad King.”

“Tauroneo must not think so,” Soren replied calmly.

“What are you talking about?”

“He is serving as one of the revolutionaries’ top lieutenants,” Soren explained. “I saw his picture in a news pamphlet this morning.”

This made Ike hesitate, and he seemed at war in his own mind. Soren decided to give him ease: “That being said, we cannot know whether this ‘Prince Pelleas’ is legitimate. In Nevassa, Elincia and I found evidence of a deceased heir, not a living one. The Daein people are desperate for their freedom and may grasp at any charlatan willing to lead them. The rumors coming out of that country are indeed rumors—if not outright lies and speculation.”

Ike sighed and muttered, “I wonder what Queen Elincia is making of all this…”

Soren didn’t offer a response.

“And what about Lehran’s Medallion?” Ike pushed. “Another war could awaken the dark god.”

“The medallion is safe with the herons,” Titania assured.

“And if skirmishes between Daein and Begnion were enough to free the god, it would have sprung from that medallion long ago,” Soren added.

“I suppose you’re right,” Ike gave in. “But still…I have a bad feeling about this.”

After another month of tracing down jobs, saving their coppers, and sleeping under the stars, the Greil Mercenaries made a harrowing discovery. They were visiting a remote barracks, fishing for a contract, when Soren’s eyes were pulled toward yet another news flyer about the war. The corners were ripped where they’d been pinned to the wall, the illustration was slightly vandalized with some soldier’s crude drawing, and according to the date, it was a week old. But the print and illustration were still clearly visible.

“BLACK KNIGHT JOINS REBELLION,” said the headline.

“DAEIN RIDER BACK FROM THE GRAVE?” asked the subtitle.

The image depicted a young woman with gray hair and a yellow halo. On her right was a man armored in white: Tauroneo. On her left was a man armored in black. Both were wearing helmets, but the Black Knight’s was drawn with a crack running down the middle.

It was a quick sketch, designed to be easily replicated several hundred times and spread around the country, and yet it was enough to make the hairs rise on the back of Soren’s neck. “Ike…” he warned, but it wasn’t necessary. His friend was already staring at the notice with wide, disbelieving eyes and mouth slightly agape.

“Impossible!” Titania hissed.

“That bastard died in Nados,” Shinon spat.

“Nasir wouldn’t have given up his life for nothing!” Mist declared in a shaky voice.

“I don’t understand.” Rolf looked at his brothers’ faces in confusion. “This isn’t real is it? It has to be a story someone made up. They’re lying…”

“Maybe it’s a copycat?” Oscar suggested uncertainly.

“Enough!” Ike silenced their despairing. His fists were clenched tight, and a vein throbbed in his neck. “If it’s a lie, it’s a lie. If it’s true, then my blade will find him again.”

“Begnion might beat you to it,” Gatrie tried to lighten the mood. “According to what’s written here, they’re winning the war. The Black Knight showing up doesn’t change that.”

“If anything, means Daein’s gettin’ desperate,” Shinon offered.

“We’re going to Nados,” Ike declared, ignoring their comments. “I want to know if the Black Knight’s body was found.”

“Nados is awfully close to Melior,” Mia observed.

“And the new Royal Knights headquarters have been erected somewhere around there,” Oscar added. “That would increase our chances of being recognized.”

“It’s something I have to do,” Ike replied firmly. This was met with nods of acceptance and even encouragement.

“Of course,” Titania agreed. “Despite the risk, it is something I feel we must do as well.”

Soren agreed it was worthwhile to do some research, so they pulled up their stakes and headed toward Nados that very day.

The wreckage of Nados was gone, and in its place was a hilltop memorial dedicated to the lives lost in the pivotal battle. By talking to the locals, the mercenaries learned that the castle’s raw materials had been repurposed for the Knights’ new headquarters, Fort Pinell’s repairs, a sequence of stone watchtowers throughout the region, and the new wing of a noble’s mansion.

The next day, they tracked down some of the commoners who had helped with the salvage. They had doubled as grave diggers, and many of the bodies they’d found were buried in the adjacent valley.

“Not the ones with the black armor,” one gap-toothed farmer explained emphatically. “We dug a big pit an’ tossed them in, an’ when we was done, we burned ‘em all up. Some soldiers or som’n covered the mess with dirt. Think it’s a pig’s wallow now.”

“But do you remember a man covered head to toe in armor?” Titania pushed. “Even his helm fully covered his face.” She mimed the extent of the visor from her forehead to chin. “He would have been in the second floor, aft main hall of the central keep.”

The farmer cocked his head at her. “Rubble’s rubble, ma’am. Dust and stone is dust and stone, and one Daein dog is just like another.”

“What about a man with dark skin?” Ike asked suddenly. “His hair was light blue, and-”

The farmer was already shaking his head. “D’ya know what happens to som’n’s body when a building done falls on it? The skins all dark an’ smushed with blood an’ whatnot. Faces all get squished, and it’s really no use lookin’ for particulars.” Perhaps he mistook the disappointment in Ike’s expression for nausea, because he patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Sorry there, son. Shouldn’t a’said that. Was this fellow a friend of yours? Ya know, I lost my brother an’ nephew in the battle of Melior. They was very brave.”

Ike shook his head and answered simply: “Thank you for your time.” Then he pressed a silver coin in the man’s hand, and the mercenaries departed.

That evening, when they were camping in the wilderness, Soren got Ike away from the fire to speak with him alone. “Even if the knight is alive, we have no clearance to move freely about Daein and track him down. And even if we did, we would be putting ourselves between two warring armies to get to him. And even _then_ , his enchanted armor would pose a serious problem, considering you no longer have the holy sword Ragnell.”

“You don’t think I realize all that?” His eyes were tired, but angry too. “Look, I’m not about to run off on some blind revenge mission.”

Soren ducked his head. “I am just making sure.”

“Say it,” Ike growled, clearly not falling for the false contrition. “I know you weren’t done yet.”

Releasing a long breath, Soren chose his next words carefully: “The Black Knight would have killed you and Mist if Nasir had not intervened. Even with Ragnell, you could not match him. If he is alive, then he is stronger than Petrine, Betram, or Bryce. He is stronger than King Ashnard, stronger than a Goldoan dragon, and stronger than any foe you have ever faced.”

Ike clearly did not like what he was hearing, but at least he was listening. “I’m stronger now too,” he finally said. “When we meet again, I will defeat him.”

“You are not stronger,” Soren replied firmly. “None of us are. We’ve grown dull since the war ended.”

Ike shook his head. “Then I will train harder.”

Soren knew no amount of training could compare to the conditioning achieved by fighting in an actual war (as the Black Knight was doing now). But he decided not to argue further. “If and when the time comes—if the Black Knight tracks you down as he did Greil…” he proposed quietly. “You must let me- let us help you. Let the mercenaries fight alongside you. Together we can-”

“No,” Ike cut him off. His voice was dead serious. “Mist and I have discussed it. The Black Knight is someone we have to defeat alone.”

“That’s foolishness!”

“He killed our father.”

Soren rubbed his temples in frustration. “Don’t you think we hate him too? We all want the Black Knight dead.”

“You want to avenge the Commander? You, Soren?”

Ike rarely accused Soren of heartlessness as the others did, and the implication stung worse than expected. But he reined in his mind and emotions before continuing: “The Black Knight is the one man in the world I can imagine killing you,” he explained coolly. It was too easy to recall the night Ike stumbled out of the Gallian forest with Greil on his back and blood seeping from his wounds. “So yes, I would love to kill him too.”

“You can’t avenge me,” Ike replied in annoyance. “I’m not dead.”

“I’d rather not have to wait until you are dead,” Soren shot back.

“Mist and I will do it, when the time comes.” The finality of his declaration caused Soren’s mouth to snap shut. “This is the last time I want to have to make this point.”

“Fine,” Soren finally hissed. “I suppose we can only hope the Black Knight is truly dead in a pit and this reappearance is a hoax.”

“Honestly…” Ike’s voice grew softer and quieter. “I hope he’s alive… I want him to die on my sword. I want to see his face, his eyes. I want to surpass my father’s killer.”

All of Soren’s anger suddenly left him, leaving him with a strange, empty ache. “I know you do,” he sighed resignedly.

“Does that make me as obsessed with strength as the Mad King?” There was a forced lightness in his voice that Soren didn’t believe.

“No,” he answered defiantly. “You are much more than that.”

Ike didn’t ask what else he might be, and Soren didn’t offer examples. Silence stretched between them, the campfire sputtered in the distance, and stars cascaded overhead. To the east, storm clouds blotted out the sky above the horizon. Soren thought about calling Ike’s attention to them, but following his friend’s gaze, it was clear he already knew they were there.

“We should batten down the tents,” he said, and the conversation was officially over. “Looks like we may be in for a rough night.”

“I’ll have Titania secure the horses,” Soren replied, and they rejoined the others at the campfire.

“That was a long piss break,” Shinon noted. He had his feet up on a stump.

“Storm’s coming,” was Ike’s only response.

A pair of lavender-haired cat laguz found the mercenaries later that week, which was a surprise considering they were still in Crimea. The cats introduced themselves as expert trackers (clearly very proud of themselves), who’d been sent by King Caineghis to find the mercenaries and convey a missive: another job offer.

The laguz were well-disguised for their mission, wearing long skirts, long sleeves, high-necked blouses, and cowls that cupped their entire heads. To Soren they looked like they belonged to some particularly modest sect of Ashera-worshippers. Of course, he had known they were laguz instantly, but the others hadn’t realized the truth until the two women had removed their cowls to reveal their purple cat ears. 

Since it was evening, Ike invited the pair to stay with them for the night while they decided what to do about the job. Unlike the previous offer, the king didn’t want them to fight anyone in particular. He wanted them to act as messengers, protecting a copy of a Gallian-Begnion trade agreement on its way to Sienne.

“A draft of a treaty is already on its way to Sienne,” explained one of the couriers, although the Caineghis’s letter already said as much. “Our King asks that you intercept it at Fort Mugill and ferry it the rest of the way. Here is your letter of introduction.” The other courier handed over another scroll even though Ike hadn’t accepted yet.

“Hold on a second,” Ike said, even though he took the tube of paper. “We need to discuss this.”

“If you must,” the first courier conceded, but neither moved to give the mercenaries privacy.

Ike gestured for the rest of the mercenaries to circle up, and they set about deciding whether they wanted to go back to Begnion. The mercenaries were running low on funds, and Caineghis always paid well, so Soren saw no reason not to accept. The job would take them into Gallia for a little while, but the beast land no longer bothered him as it once had.

In the end, Ike accepted the job, and the cat couriers became their escorts, urging them to Mugill at all haste.

The cats left them when they reached Mugill and received the treaty from the tiger carrying it there. His name was Kyza, and he seemed relieved that he would not have to travel into Begnion any further or stay in Mugill any longer. From here, a small platoon of soldiers helped escort the mercenaries through the mountainous tribal lands, although Ike tried to tell them it was completely unnecessary. This region was still doing well since they’d helped reclaim Mugill and Flaguerre, and crime rates were low.

When left on their own again, the mercenaries cut south to visit the Serenes Forest, which they hadn’t had a chance to do the last time they were in Begnion. They found houses already nestled among the trees, where Begnion civilians had decided to make the forest their own. Here they encountered signs warning of a strict no-hunting policy (out of respect for the vegetarian herons who’d once lived here), but Soren had no doubt the colonists were taking whatever they wanted from the forest.

The mercenaries, however, did not. They were careful not to disturb the land unnecessarily and didn’t harm a single furred or feathered creature (although the Serenes seemed to be teeming with them and could probably spare a few). Soren wondered where they had all come from, since the vast forest had been nothing but a dead swamp for two decades.

He also noted that it was unseasonably warm here, and most of the trees still had their green leaves. Under the canopy’s protection, the mercenaries marched without their cloaks and some even rolled up their sleeves.

They exited the Serenes north of Tanas and crossed the Miscale River by ferry. They skirted the mountains encasing the Grann Desert and proceeded southeast to Sienne. King Gallia was paying them well enough that they didn’t have to take on other jobs in the interim, but Ike still called on the mercenaries to lend a hand when they encountered people in trouble. The poor but grateful peasants would pay the mercenaries with food, lodging, or whatever they had to give, and in this way, the mercenaries rode a wave of goodwill south to the capital.

Almost no one knew the mercenaries were carrying an important laguz-beorc trade agreement, and so no one tried to track them and stop them. It was a decent ploy on the part of King Gallia, and Soren had little doubt other copies (or perhaps fake versions) of the treaty were being sent by other means: a Crimean ship, a Crimean pegasus rider, a Phoenician hawk messenger, or perhaps a separate Gallian envoy. In fact, Soren couldn’t be certain if the treaty he carried was the real one. But the Greil Mercenaries were being paid either way, so he didn’t care. It was an easy job.

When they arrived in Sienne, they found a relatively cheap place on the outskirts, and Ike and Titania carried the message of their arrival into the city. Then they needed only wait until the Gallian ambassador (a black lion named Shiraneth) came for the treaty herself. In the meantime, the mercenaries made daily voyages into the metropolis for entertainment and news of the ongoing war with Daein. But people here were generally tight-lipped about the rebellion. The Siennese seemed to pretend the conflict didn’t exist, and they certainly didn’t appreciate when the mercenaries called it a ‘war’.

There was no reason to seek an audience with Sanaki, and she didn’t contact them. Sephiran was supposedly in the court again and Zelgius was probably nearby, but Ike did not have the means to schedule a tea party with these old acquaintances even if he wanted to (and Soren was fairly sure the only person he would want to would be Zelgius). The whereabouts of Sigrun and Tanith were once again unknown, and word was that neither Tormod nor Muarim was in the city. With no friends to make staying worth their while, the mercenaries planned to head out in just a couple days. (That was about as long as anyone wanted to stay in this stuffy place.)

When Lady Shiraneth finally arrived and took custody of the trade agreement, she gave them the second half of their pay. She bid them, “Do as beorc do, and enjoy the luxuries of the city,” although her tone indicated she had no interest in such pastimes.

When she was gone, Soren and Mist divided the funds so everyone would get paid, and Mist raised an eyebrow at the hefty stack of Begnion credits Soren pulled toward himself. “Your cut is still ten shares?”

“Yes.”

“That makes yours the highest aside from company expenses.” While she said it, she pulled away the fifteen shares that constituted this amount and bound it so it could be easily placed in the company’s coffers. It equated to about eighteen percent of the total payment they’d gotten for this job. Soren’s claim was twelve percent.

“Call me a cutthroat if you wish,” he said simply, next dividing the two ten-percent stacks that would go to Ike and Titania.

“I didn’t mean that…” Mist blushed.

“When the war ended, Ike and Titania decreased their own cuts as officers and raised everyone else’s. I thought that was unnecessary, so I didn’t take part.”

Mist had just finished separating out the three seven-percent stacks that would go to Oscar, Boyd, and Mia. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that it was wrong. I was just surprised. What do you do with all your money?”

Soren started on the three six-percent stacks that would go to Gatrie, Shinon, and Rhys. (For their desertion after Greil’s death, the lance knight and archer were paid one share less than their comrades who were equal in strength. And Rhys was paid less because he was too timid to ask for a raise). While he counted, Soren thought about his answer. “Nothing in particular,” he eventually said. “Tomorrow I will go into the city and deposit most of my pay into an account with the Imperial Bank.”

Mist looked stunned. “I didn’t realize you had one of those!” Soren shot her an annoyed glance, and she had the sense to look apologetic. “I mean…you don’t have a family, right? What are you saving it for?” She immediately reddened. “I’m sorry, that was a terrible question. You don’t have to answer that.”

Soren wasn’t particularly bothered by her intrusion, and but he let her flounder for a moment while he split the remaining bills into the two five-percent stacks that would go to her and Rolf. Then he checked his work to make sure everything added up. Mist should have already done this, but she’d become distracted by her own conversation.

“I’m not saving for anything in particular,” he finally said. “I just want to be prepared for whatever might happen.” Naturally, he couldn’t explain his unpredictable longevity and how he would have to find some other way to live when he eventually left the mercenaries. He didn’t even want to think about it.

“I guess that makes sense,” Mist replied politely. Now that the task was done, she leaned back and stared contentedly up at the rafters.

Soren pushed her relatively small stack toward her and wondered at its size. “You are a fighter and a healer, Mist, and you have taken on numerous leadership duties. Even doing this with me now is not in your contract.”

Mist shook her head, which caused her braids to bounce. “Oh, I don’t mind.”

“You should ask Ike for a raise,” he said, even though he didn’t know why this idea had suddenly popped into his head or why he was giving Mist unsolicited advice.

She looked curiously at him. “You really think so? I mean, with the stock system, if I make more that means everyone else’s share will be worth less…”

Soren scoffed at her logic. “Don’t worry about anyone else. You deserve to be paid a fair wage; you are not a kid anymore. I will bring it up with Ike if you do not.”

Mist’s eyes widened in surprise, but then she laughed. “Is that a threat?” she giggled before reclaiming her voice. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Soren nodded firmly. “I suggest getting it in writing before the next big job.”

Mist smiled to the side. “Why are you being nice?” she asked, and it sounded like a genuine question.

Soren didn’t know the answer, but neither did he feel ashamed at the accusation. So he shrugged. “No idea. But do not go telling the others—I won’t negotiate a raise for everyone.”

This made Mist giggle again. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Taking her five-percent with her, Mist rose and ambled off. Soren was surprised to find that he was happy she was happy. Perhaps it was because she was Ike’s sister or because he’d known her since they were both children. Perhaps it was because she’d fought beside him and save his life more times than he could remember. He couldn’t quite understand the reason; but he knew he wanted Mist to be bold and respected. Soren wanted her to thrive—and this feeling was confusing to say the least. He wondered if it was what Greil and Ike had felt when giving pre-battle sermons about family.


	32. CHAPTER 63: THE TRUTH

That evening, with fresh coins and credits in their pockets, the mercenaries went into the city to see a play. Soren didn’t want to go, but Ike forced him to by smiling and asking nicely. He hated how weak he had become that he couldn’t even fend off a slight wheedle from Ike’s lips. It wasn’t Ike’s fault either—surely he had no idea the power his requests had over Soren’s increasingly pathetic constitution.

The play was a drama, and it told the story of the forbidden love of a brave-but-poor soldier and a nobleman’s beautiful-but-forbidden daughter during the reign of the fourteenth apostle. Neither Crimea nor Daein had yet ceded from the empire, but it was a period of much infighting among the beorc territories. The play had action, political intrigue, romance, betrayal, and a dollop of mystery—and yet it bored Soren to tears. It wasn’t historically accurate, the characters’ decisions didn’t make sense, and each scene dragged on far too long. The playwright was apparently one of Sienne’s up-and-comers, and the audience was packed with nobles even though the venue wasn’t as grand as most of the city’s theaters. (That being said, it was still quite opulent, and the tickets had cost fifteen gold each.)

Even though they hadn’t reached intermission, Soren stood and decided he would rather see what kind of fancy holes noblemen defecated in around here rather than continuing to watch this play. 

“Oh, Soren,” Oscar whispered, “Are you going to the lavatory?”

Not wanting to extend an invitation, he just twitched his head noncommittally.

Oscar, however, interpreted this as affirmation and also stood. “I’ll go with you.”

The pair scuttled out of the cramped stands and found a corridor. The air was clearer here, without the overwhelming scent of the nobles’ perfumes, and the doors muffled the sound of the actors’ exaggerated voices.

“Which way?” Oscar asked, looking down the corridor in either direction.

“I don’t know,” Soren answered in annoyance and picked one at random. Oscar fell in step beside him. Of all the unwanted tag-alongs, Soren supposed Oscar was not the worst; at least he was quiet.

The hall encircled the audience section of the theater, ending with a stairwell and a corridor that surely led backstage. But no one was guarding it, so Soren kept going. He figured he should try to find a lavatory for Oscar, even if he didn’t have urgent need of one himself.

The sound of the play was louder down here, and there were a lot more people rushing from one door to the next—some in elaborate wigs and dresses. These people ignored the two mercenaries.

At the end of the hall, Soren located his quarry and waited outside while Oscar took care of his business. Then they switched. The lavatory was not gilded in gold, but the seat was made of stone, and water could be pumped in to wash away the waste. The marble toilets in Temple Mainal and Melior Castle had been fancier (and some actually gilded), but it was still humorous to see how the supposedly ‘Sainted’ nobles coped with the needs of their human bodies.

Reuniting with Oscar, the pair proceeded back around the stage, and it was here—with his mind sluggishly thinking about toilets of all things—that Soren was bombarded with a familiar sensation. He froze in place, and an instant later, he heard his name being whisper-called. “Soren!” the voice laughed, “What are you doing here?”

Koure jogged over, and Oscar stopped, clearly confused. He glanced at Soren for an explanation, but his slightly raised eyebrow wasn’t demanding.

When she reached them, Koure grabbed Soren’s hand in both of hers like they were old friends (which, he supposed, they were). Her eyes raced over his face, and she squeezed his fingers before releasing them, saying, “You look good. A lot better.”

Soren’s mind was still reeling to accept her presence here and the fact that she’d approached him in front of one of the other mercenaries (which, of course, he couldn’t blame her for, since she couldn’t have known she was a secret from them). He tried to make sense of what she was saying and realized (to his embarrassment) that the last time she’d seen him was on the eve of battle, when he’d been sleep-deprived, half-starved, and barely overcoming his bout of post-Gritnea depression. He must have looked like a corpse, but she hadn’t said anything at the time.

Perhaps noticing his reaction, her smile faltered. She took a step back, and setting the smile again, she offered her hand to Oscar. “You must be one of the mercenaries.”

“I’m Oscar,” he introduced himself calmly.

“Koure,” she said, but now she paused to give Soren an opening to introduce her.

Forcing himself out of his own head, Soren wasted no time explaining Koure’s identity to Oscar: “Koure is from Crimea,” he said, keeping an objective tone. “She was one of the civilians who assisted with preparations at Fort Pinell before the final assault. She was a smith’s apprentice, but clearly she has found a different line of work in Begnion.” He eyed her new look and hoped she would understand their conversation had to be guarded with Oscar around. That being said, he could still ask the questions he wanted to as long as he was careful. And right now, he wanted to know why her freckles were caked over with white powder and her eyes rimmed in black ink. She didn’t look like she could be one of the actresses, however, because she was also wearing a simple dress with an apron full of pockets.

“Sure, smithing was a great skill to learn back in Crimea when there was a war going on,” she addressed both Soren and Oscar in an easygoing tone, as if this were a perfectly normal time and place to make conversation, “but here in Begnion, I’ve learned the much easier work of helping thespians put on their makeup and costumes. I’ll be honest—it’s more fun too.”

“A sound career change then,” Oscar said, playing along. Soft-spoken and polite, he never gossiped or spread rumors. He minded his own business, and Soren had never appreciated this fact more than he did now. “But what brings you to Begnion?” he asked kindly.

Koure waited a second before answering, possibly seeing if Soren would jump in and stop her, but he didn’t. He trusted Koure not to spill their secrets, and trying to speak on her behalf would only make him look suspicious. “After the war, I went to Daein,” she explained, “looking for my family. The truth is, I’ve never known my mother.” (Oscar looked appropriately sympathetic). “But it was hard to stay there as a Crimean, so I’ve been in Begnion over three years now.” She finished just as cheerily as she’d started. Soren marveled once again at the fact that Koure seemed to be in such good spirits every time they met, no matter what difficulty she was currently facing.

“That is a long journey to make alone,” Oscar replied, “Especially for one so young.”

The words were like a smack to the face, and Soren suddenly realized just how Oscar must see Koure: not as the twenty-three-year-old Branded woman he knew her to be, but a pubescent beorc girl. It was a cruel reminder of how Soren was seen as well.

However, Koure didn’t seem the least surprised by this assessment. She laughed into her hand, smudging some of the dye on her lips. “Thanks, but I _am_ older than I look, I swear. Does the makeup not help?”

Oscar seemed politely embarrassed. “Oh, I am sorry. I should not have assumed.”

The conversation was dangerously close to implicating Soren, so he decided to change the subject. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but Koure beat him to it.

“Anyway, I don’t really mind being alone. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time, and I enjoy meeting new people wherever I go.” There is was again: that smile. Koure honestly looked happy with her lot in life. But thinking about her travelling from place to place, working odd jobs, and teaching herself new skills all of these years completely alone while Soren had had Ike and the mercenaries at his side—he suddenly wondered if it was a façade. No one could be that well-adjusted. 

By the time Soren reclaimed himself, Oscar was inviting Koure to visit the mercenaries after the play. “We do not often meet fellow Crimeans abroad,” he said kindly, “And any friend of Soren’s is a friend of ours.”

Soren’s skin itched at the word, and he glared back at Oscar.

Fortunately Koure shook her head in refusal. “Sorry, I can’t. I have to clean all the costumes after the show. But thank you.”

Oscar nodded his acceptance. “Please, let us know if there anything we can do for you.”

“Thank you.” Koure smiled to the side. “But I’m doing fine.”

With that, Oscar excused himself and took a couple steps away. “Are you coming back now, or do you need a few moments?” he asked Soren, his voice as uncoercive as ever.

Soren did want to speak freely with Koure, but admitting that fact would prove that they were friends. Such a thing was not in itself a danger, but it would expose him to interrogation by his fellow mercenaries. After ten years with the company, the others had learned long ago not to ask about his past or his personal life. But Koure’s appearance could reawaken their curiosity.

While Soren hesitated to respond, Koure saved him again: “If you’ll leave him here a moment,” she addressed Oscar. “I’d like to pick his brain about something.” She then turned to Soren. “It won’t be long. I have to get back to work before intermission.”

Soren nodded, and Oscar waved farewell.

When he was out of earshot, Koure squealed happily and pushed him into one of the adjoining rooms, which was crowded with chests and racks of clothes. The only people here were faceless mannequins, so Soren deemed it safe. “You wanted to ask me something?”

“Nothing in particular,” Koure shrugged, still smiling, “but you’re a tactician, right? I thought it sounded professional—a completely legitimate consultation. Ashera forbid that nice fellow think we were actually friends.” She tapped her nose conspiratorially.

Soren grimaced at her words. “And what strategy would a tactician and beautician be colluding over?”

“I’m afraid that will be for you to explain later,” she replied flippantly. Her smile still hadn’t faded at all.

“How can you be happy?” he asked, not believing what he was seeing.

Koure’s eyebrows came together, and her lips twisted into a peculiar expression. “It’s good to see you too,” she replied sarcastically.

Soren shook his head. “You only befriended me because you were lonely; I understand that now. But we have not seen each other in years, and I have done nothing for you in all the time we’ve known each other. There is no reason for you to be glad our paths have crossed again. Why are your pretending?”

The smile stayed, and she punched him gently in the arm. “You haven’t changed at all,” she sighed contentedly.

Soren glared at her now. “I have,” he declared. He tried to keep his voice as steady and clear as possible although it still came out quiet. “That is why I know you’re pretending.”

“Well, ‘pretending’ is a strong word for it…” Koure twisted a lock escaping her curls. “Am I putting my best self forward? Yes, I am. But am I honestly glad to see a familiar face? Yes, I am that too.”

Soren look a long breath as he considered these claims.

Koure’s smile finally began to disappear, but her eyes were still earnest. “I do consider you a friend—a true friend. And you are wrong if you think you need to have done something to earn that title.” 

“Fine,” he gave in. “So be it.”

A flicker of victory crossed her face. “So what are you doing in Sienne? You haven’t told me.”

“A job brought us here, but we will be leaving shortly,” Soren explained. “My commander forced everyone to come to the theater on our last night.”

“Then I’m lucky to catch you…” For the first time, Koure didn’t look entirely happy.

Soren didn’t know what to say, so after a few silent seconds, he changed the subject. “I got your letter in the desert.”

Her eyes lit up in surprise. “You visited the colony?”

“Not exactly. The Greil Mercenaries stayed in the city of Zunanma; one of the hermits found me there to convey the letter.”

“Wow—” she tilted her head in disbelief. “—I’m surprised they actually held onto it. They didn’t seem to like the fact I refused to stay.”

Soren recalled what the Branded woman had said about Koure being destined to break as long as she continued to trust and live among beorc. At the time, he’d agreed and believed it to be true. But now he wasn’t so sure.

“Why didn’t you stay?” he asked, although he suspected he knew the answer.

“I still haven’t found out the truth,” Koure said as if it were obvious, “about where I came from.” She crossed her arms to show her determination. “I can’t settle down until I find out if that man who brought me to the Crimean border was truly my father, and if so, what happened to my mother. She might still be in Daein somewhere.” She brought her eyebrows together as if in concentration. “As soon as Daein wins this war, I’ll go back to keep searching.” 

The story of Palmeni Temple clawed at Soren’s throat, but he swallowed to keep it down. He decided to change the subject again. “You think Daein will win?”

Koure grinned. “I hope so. I think it would make my search easier.”

Soren nearly smiled at the simplicity of that answer, and his suspicion of her heritage became even harder to keep to himself. If discovering the identity of her parents was the only thing she really cared about—and if he really was her friend—how could he not tell her what he knew? Ike didn’t need to know about Gawain and Elena because he had Mist. Soren didn’t need to know about the woman the cobbler saw because he had Ike. But Koure hadn’t had anyone since her adopted father had died.

“You could come with us instead,” he suddenly offered, not quite sure why he wasn’t terrified of the implications. “Ike likes to help people. He would find a place for you among the mercenaries. You would not have to fight if you don’t want to.”

Koure blinked, obviously taken off guard. “What are you talking about? A minute ago you didn’t want your comrade to even know we were friends. I could see it all over your face—you don’t want me interfering with your life with the mercenaries. I respect that; I do.”

She was right, but Soren pushed ahead anyway. “I can change…,” he said, “I can change my mind.”

Koure just shook her head. “Thanks, but I still need to get back to Daein. I have to find the truth.”

“What if I could tell you?”

This clearly confused her. “…What are you saying?”

Soren knew it was unfair of him to suddenly thrust this upon her, but it felt even worse to keep it from her. “I have a theory.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Soren took a steadying breath. “In the ancient language, your name is the word for an unborn child. I believe your father mistook the word for a name when he heard it on your mother’s lips.”

Koure said nothing, but her face was drawn in eagerness to hear more.

“He could not understand her because some laguz of the heron clan grow up never speaking the common tongue.”

“A heron?” she repeated incredulously. “But they’re extinct…”

“Not quite,” Soren countered. “A refugee colony survives in Phoenicis, and three members of the royal family remain. A fourth survived the Serenes Massacre only to die in Daein custody.”

“In Daein…”

“I saw the heron’s cell with my own eyes, during the war,” Soren explained, “I also read her journal—the little I could understand. Her name was Lillia, and she died almost twenty-four years ago, possibly in childbirth.”

Koure still didn’t seem to believe it.

“And…you look like your aunt,” Soren added, although he thought it might be overkill. “Ever since I first met Princess Leanne in the Serenes Forest, I thought she looked like you.”

To Soren’s surprise, Koure’s legs seem to give out and she awkwardly lowered herself to the floor. She sat with one leg curled under her, staring into the middle distance. “Can all that be true…”

Soren crouched at her level. “I have no evidence,” he reminded. “This is just my theory, but it all make sense.”

“Then…who was my father?”

Soren hesitated before answering. “One of her guards, I assume. Possibly the soldier who brought you to the border and passed you off to a Crimean knight instead of killing you. But it would be impossible to determine. According to her journal…she was accosted by several guards during her time in the temple.”

“Temple?” Koure repeated, seizing the word like she was drowning.

“The cell was in the basement of Palmeni Temple,” Soren reported, “two hours’ ride northwest from Nevassa.”

“I have to go there!” She was on her feet in an instant, and Soren actually grabbed her arm out of fear she would leave the room and try to run all the way to Daein this instant.

When it was clear she wasn’t that insane, he released her. “Sorry.”

She pushed her fingers through her hair and stared at the floor. “It all makes sense… It could be possible. But I have to find proof. I have to see for myself. If I can find someone who was there, maybe someone who knew him…”

Soren realized his plan had backfired. “If you believe it is true, then let it be the truth,” he advised. “It may not be a happy story, but…it does mean you don’t have to search anymore.”

Her head shot up, and she pinned him with an accusing glare. “If you knew this at Pinell, why didn’t you say anything?”

Soren didn’t have a good excuse, so he shook his head. “I thought it better if you had hope. I didn’t want you to find out the answer if it was only going to upset you.”

“Do I look upset?” she demanded.

“…Yes,” Soren answered honestly. Her eyes were moist and her skin sweaty under the makeup.

“Well I’m not,” she assured him, despite her shaking voice. “I’m happy. I have an actual lead for the first time! I’m excited. I’m going to Daein as soon as possible.”

Soren didn’t doubt she would, but he didn’t believe she was happy. “It is not a lead,” he countered, “It’s a complete explanation. What more do you hope to find?”

“I don’t know,” she returned quickly. “But I’ll know when I find it.”

Soren suddenly felt very tired, and he knew it was no use arguing. “Fine,” he conceded. “Do what you must.”

Silence stretched between them, and Koure seem to catch her breath. “Thank you, Soren,” she finally said, “for telling me what you found out.”

He just shrugged because offering an apology felt as useless as arguing.

“Now,” she glanced at the door. “I really should get back. They’ll be wondering where I’ve gone.”

Soren nodded once.

Grasping the door handle, Koure paused a moment. “Soren,” she said as if just thinking of something, “What about your own parents? You said you were from Daein too, right? …Did they have other laguz locked up in their temples?”

Soren was surprised by the question and the fact that she would still be thinking about him. “Not that I know of,” he answered honestly. “And I may never find out.”

“Are you really okay with that?”

Soren didn’t reply immediately, because he wanted to be certain he was telling the truth. “I am trying to be,” he finally answered. “I am trying to be content with Ike and the other mercenaries.”

Koure swallowed and nodded. “In that case—” her hand was still on the door “—make the most of it. I don’t know if you already have what I’m looking for, but if you do, then… Just…don’t live a lie if you can help it. I don’t want that for you.” She offered a small but encouraging smile, and with that she was gone.

Soren was left alone in a tiny wardrobe room in a Siennese theater. For a few moments he just stood there, replaying the stolen conversation in his head and filing it away for the future. At Koure’s parting words, he couldn’t help but think of all the careful lies that bound his life.

Finally he had to leave, because the sudden roar of sound outside signaled that intermission had begun. People could enter this room at any moment, so he left and joined the crowd growing outside. While he made his way back to the mercenaries, he considered the fact that Oscar must have already conveyed the reason he hadn’t returned, which meant he would have to make an excuse to explain away Koure’s familiarity with him and why he’d given her his time. The process of conjuring yet more lies left a sour taste in his mouth, but he didn’t know what else to do.

“I am not quite sure who she is,” he said when the others inevitably asked. “Perhaps she is some spy of Bastian’s acquiring information abroad. I assure you, I told her nothing of value.”

Ike knitted his eyebrows together. “A spy? Do you think she was looking for us?”

“Could something be wrong in Crimea?” Titania speculated.

Soren shook his head. “I have no evidence to support my theory, and I believe it was a coincidence that our paths crossed.”

Ike nodded as if satisfied with this explanation (or lack thereof).

“What did she want to ask you?” Titania asked next.

“Daein,” Soren answered firmly yet vaguely. “But I had no information to share, even if I wanted to, and she betrayed nothing herself. Ultimately it was a fruitless meeting for both sides.” No one pushed for more details, and Koure seemed to pass from their minds. The mercenaries finished watching the play, and the next morning, they left the inn on the outskirts of Sienne for the last time.

The Greil Mercenaries headed north, intending to cross back into Crimea via the protected trade road through Daein. Ike wanted to take the chance despite their previous deportation, and Soren wondered if he hoped to meet the Black Knight just by setting foot back in Daein.

They’d just crossed the Ribahn River when they received news that the rebellion was entering its final stages. Jarod and the remnants of his ‘pacification’ army were cornered in Nevassa Castle, with the Silver-Haired Maiden and Black Knight bearing down on him. The occupation forces throughout the country had either been isolated, decimated, or forced to retreat. Defeat seemed inevitable, and Begnion civilians were fleeing en masse. Rebel soldiers and even ordinary peasants plundered and harassed them as they fled.

The pegasus-mounted criers who brought this news were calling on volunteers to raise arms and help bring the refugees home. Others asked that people here in the northern territories prepare their homes and business to accept the influx of travelers in the coming weeks.

“Change of plans!” Ike declared when he heard the news, “We can’t go back to Crimea yet if there’s work for us in Daein. We’ll head north as fast as we can and hire ourselves out to people trying to reach the border.”

“Yes!” Shinon roared excitedly, surprising everyone, “Some of those Begnion merchants have damn deep pockets!”

“We’ll help anyone willing to hire us, no matter if they can match our going rate,” Ike reprimanded. “We can’t be picky about our clients when so many lives are at stake.”

Shinon pursed his lips in annoyance.

Titania furrowed her brow. “We will have to move quickly if we are to help as many people as possible.”

“Procure as many contracts as possible,” Soren corrected her. “This is still business after all.” He took a moment to think and brought his hands together. “However, I agree there is money to be made here. I recommend we invest in horses again. They will get us to Daein faster and allow us more mobility once we get there.”

“Horses ain’t cheap,” Gatrie observed with an uneasy expression. (He’d never been an avid rider.)

“I agree with Soren’s plan,” Ike declared. “We’ll use the company’s reserves. If all goes well, we can make up the loss with the profits from the evacuation.” No one argued with his decision.

“Oscar and I will make the purchases,” Titania offered. “We should be ready to leave by tomorrow at the latest.”

“We leave tonight,” Ike decided. “Even flying, pegasus messengers can only travel so fast. Nevassa may have already fallen. Word will spread and panic will follow. Every day matters.”

“Yes, sir!” Titania crowed. Oscar and a couple others threw obedient salutes.

“Soren, chart us the quickest route to the border,” Ike ordered next. “We don’t have to head for Tor Holvar anymore.”

“Of course, Ike.”

“Mist, Rhys, see to it that you have fresh staves and buy more vulneraries too. The people we escort could already be injured,” Ike said next. “Shinon, Rolf, go to the fletcher. Boyd, Mia, the bladesmith. I want everyone’s steel sharp before we reach Daein. Gatrie, get our chainmail repaired at the armorer. Pay extra if you have to.” Everyone saluted or nodded at his instructions. “We won’t be the only people—or even the only mercenaries—heading north. But we’re lucky that we’re already so close. If we act fast, we can control which roads are safe. Let’s not waste any time!”

Soren couldn’t help but feel proud as he watched Ike take charge of the situation. He had the ambition of a mercenary commander and the poise of a seasoned general. As a tactician, Soren agreed with everything Ike was saying and the investments he was making to capitalize on Begnion’s imminent defeat. And yet, he also felt uneasy about the spark he saw in Ike’s eyes. He was too eager to race into Daein and antagonize the victorious rebels, but Soren couldn’t pretend he didn’t know why. The Black Knight’s resurrection was no hoax, and Ike wanted to fight him.

For two months, the Greil Mercenaries had steady work and a healthy flow of profits as they escorted Begnion merchants, families, traders, carpenters, bricklayers, artisans, smiths, landowners, and even retreating soldiers to the safety of the border mountains and the Great Wall of Ivelt (which, fortunately, was still under Begnion control).

In the weeks following their siege of Nevassa, Prince Pelleas and the Silver-Haired Maiden—who everyone now referred to as ‘General Micaiah’—decreed that the Begnion occupants would be allowed to depart in peace as long as they made haste. But not all of their subjects obeyed the order, and the mercenaries had plenty of errant soldiers, greedy brigands, and enterprising civilians to fend off almost every day. The Begnion refugees were grateful for the protection and paid Ike from whatever funds they managed to take with them as they fled—which was often no small amount. They may have been running for their lives, but these people were clearly making out like bandits.

This type of work meant Soren spent a portion of every day on horseback, which was a far cry from what he was used to. But after the first few weeks, his aching back and legs became accustomed to the saddle, and his control over the stout but reliable steed improved. The mercenaries often guarded long trains of people at a time, so they needed to be able to move quickly from one end to the other while on patrol. The same was true when scouting ahead or visiting nearby villages to collect yet more refugees (many of whom tended to hide out until help arrived).

When it was time to fight, however, most of the mercenaries were quick to ditch their mounts. Only Titania, Oscar, and Mist were well-trained in horsemanship, and Soren was certainly not. The first time he tried to wield magic from the horse’s back, he spooked the creature so badly he fell off. The second time he tried, he found he was poor at avoiding enemy fire and ended up with two arrows in his arm, one in his back, and another in the horse’s flank. After that, he was sure to leap from the saddle at the first sign of an ambush.

When allowed to fight on their own terms, the mercenaries were a force to be reckoned with. Most of their opponents weren’t trained soldiers, which made them relatively easy to kill, maim, or frighten off. Although General Micaiah had freed thousands of imprisoned soldiers from Begnion’s workcamps, most were still stationed with the main army up north. After the conquest of Nevassa, Micaiah had been slowly and steadily spreading her sphere of influence. The bulk of the army had not yet come this far south, but when they did, the Greil Mercenaries would make themselves scarce.

After three months, that time (and the Daein Army) was finally approaching. But the number of refugees they escorted each week was decreasing anyway. Soren wondered if Ike would be able to leave Daein satisfied at a job well done or if he would regret not having encountered the Black Knight.

Although Ike asked about him often enough, neither their clients nor their attackers had seen him—or heard of anyone seeing him—since the war ended. Rumor was that he’d simply disappeared after the conquest of Nevassa, and many speculated that he’d been nothing but a ghost after all. Such superstitious nonsense clearly infuriated Ike, and Soren was frustrated as well. Losing track of such a strong adversary was dangerous. There was too much they still didn’t know about the enigmatic knight, and Soren couldn’t help but imagine him appearing at their campfire every night and challenging Ike to a duel he couldn’t win.

One day (when two had already passed without encountering anyone needing an escort), a horse and rider found the mercenaries instead. The man came galloping down the road behind them, and Ike gestured for the company to pull off to let him pass. But as soon as he did, he pulled his steed to a halt and rounded on them.

Soren’s hand flew to his tome, although it seemed overcautious to fear a single rider. He expanded his senses, trying to detect a sound or scent indicating an ambush, but he was no laguz and sensed nothing out of the ordinary.

“Commander Ike of the Greil Mercenaries!” the rider addressed him while reining in his frothing steed. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

Ike urged his own steed forward to confront the man. “Well, you’ve found me.”

“I carry a message from Lord Bastian, Count of Fayre,” the man continued, less loudly this time. He pulled a letter from his saddle bag and held it out. “Crimea has need of your strength again.”


	33. CHAPTER 64: DAYBREAK

“How did Bastian even know where to find us?” Ike asked, staring into the fire. He pressed his elbows into his knees as he held his clasped hands against his bottom lip. His brow was furrowed in distress. “And the idea of a civil war in Crimea—it can’t be true, can it?”

The Greil Mercenaries had set up camp early in order to fully consider Bastian’s offer. Soren, Ike, Titania, and Mist were sitting at one fire, discussing the letter, while the rest of the mercenaries sat at another, keeping an eye on the mysterious messenger (who appeared quite calm under their gaze).

“It is certainly concerning,” Titania agreed. “We have been so careful these past months not to breathe the name Greil Mercenaries.”

“Does it matter?” Mist asked. “If Crimea is in trouble, we should just be happy he found us in time.”

“I still don’t like it,” Ike growled. “I mean, we’re in the middle of nowhere!” He gestured sharply at the surroundings trees.

Soren took a deep breath. He’d always intended to reveal his duplicity if Bastian ever called on them, and apparently that time was now. The sooner he could put this confusion to rest, the sooner they could truly discuss the count’s offer. “Bastian’s intelligence is my doing,” he said. “I have been sending him coded messages indicating our locations and destinations on a regular basis since leaving Melior four years ago. I apologize for the deception, but I reasoned that…” The fury burning in Ike’s eyes robbed him of his words, causing him to trail off. He suddenly doubted himself, wondering if his letters to Bastian had been a worse betrayal than he’d realized.

“You what?” Ike demanded.

“The day of Elincia’s coronation,” Soren explained, trying to keep his voice reasonable, “he asked that I feed him our location so that he may find us and offer us a job if the need arose.” 

Titania and Mist both looked surprised, but neither seemed as offended as Ike, which made his reaction even more confusing. Even when Soren and Ike disagreed, he never looked at him this way. No matter how frustrated Ike might have felt, he’d never looked at him with such anger. The glare took Soren’s confidence away, and he struggled to hold onto what was left.

“All this time—” Ike shook his head “—you’ve been working for Elincia? I never thought… No, I thought I had your loyalty.”

“O-of course you do.”

“Then how do you explain yourself? We agreed to distance ourselves from the queen! We agreed it was best for Crimea not to get involved in the transition. But you’ve been serving her this whole time!”

Titania tried to intervene. “Now Ike, that’s not entirely fair…”

Soren raised both his hands as if Ike were a wild beast he could tame. He was starting to understand why Ike was reacting this way—it was Elincia. He must still be heartsore over her (despite his claims otherwise) and now his pride was hurt. “Bastian promised the queen would not know,” Soren assured. “He was in agreement that we should stay away. My contact was just an insurance arrangement, in case something happened. Which, clearly, it has.”

Ike didn’t seem convinced. He remained standing, clenching his jaw.

“Elincia never knew our location,” Soren clarified. “She could not have called upon us if she wanted to. It is Bastian—and only Bastian—who summons us now. Read the letter again; I believe he makes that clear.”

Ike’s jaw twitched, and Soren hoped that meant he saw the logic in his words even if he wasn’t ready to release his anger. “If you think yourself so innocent, why did you keep your dealings with Bastian secret this whole time? That girl in Sienne, was she really a spy? How many more of his agents have you met?”

“No, actually, that was entirely unrelated-” he attempted to excuse himself, but Ike cut him off.

“Is lying really as easy as breathing for you?” he hissed, and Soren could hear the hurt under his fury.

Taking a calming breath, Soren tried to fend off his panic. He was afraid of alienating Ike and losing his trust. He tried to think of the right thing to say, but every thought that came into his mind felt like another lie.

Fortunately Mist came to his rescue. “Ike!” she scolded, “That’s not right.”

This seemed to have an effect on him, and he calmed slightly. Soren seized this chance to deliver a finishing blow: “I see now that I made too light of this arrangement,” he began, hoping that would suffice as a genuine apology. “But I do not regret my actions. I do not like nor trust Bastian, as I have made clear on previous occasions.” He paused a moment, willing Ike to remember that fact. He didn’t interrupt him, which was a good sign. “Neither do I hold vows to the queen nor a patriotic obligation to the nation of Crimea. I agreed to give Bastian the information—free of charge—because I considered it a service to you and the company. For my efforts, Bastian is now offering us a well-paying job. We should consider it, regardless of the mechanism by which it came into our hands.”

Ike crossed his arm, not looking happy but not looking infuriated anymore either. “Fine,” he said, “You’re off the hook for now, but we’ll have to come up with some sort of punishment. Leaking confidential information outside the company is against your contract, you know.”

“Cut my wages if you must,” he said, “It will not happen again.”

Mist released an audible sigh of relief.

“ _Tsk tsk_ ,” Titania admonished, “I do hope you learn from this.”

“Lecture me later.” He shook his head and felt suddenly exhausted.

Titania drew her hands together. “At any rate, now that we know the how, we can focus on the why.” She looked to Ike expectantly.

Clearing his throat, he seemed to summon his bearing as a commander. “If Bastian’s assessment is correct, Crimea is headed toward civil war and Elincia is at risk of losing her throne. I don’t want to let that happen.”

“Agreed!” Titania declared. “But what we can accomplish that her own loyal subjects cannot?”

“I’m sure Lord Bastian has a plan,” Mist countered, sounding hopeful. “I just don’t know why he didn’t tell us here…” She gave the unfolded letter a perplexed glance.

“For ten-thousand gold pieces,” Soren interjected, “We should at least meet with the second agent he speaks of. Perhaps then the details will become clearer.”

Ike nodded resolutely. “I’ll bring it to the rest of the group for a vote, but I don’t doubt they’ll agree. We fought too hard for Elincia just to abandon her now.”

Titania and Mist cheered, and Soren wondered what was going through Ike’s mind. Since stifling the flames of his anger, his eyes had become guarded. Soren couldn’t read them.

The rider led them west for a day and a half, until they were quite near the Crimean border. The elevation climbed steeply here, but at the base of the mountain they entered a clearing containing an old hunting cabin and a few tents. In the past couple miles, Soren had sensed at least three scouts and heard several out-of-place bird calls that were surely broadcasting their arrival.

Therefore, he wasn’t surprised when Bastian’s agent was standing in the clearing waiting for them; but he was certainly surprised to see that the agent was Bastian himself.

“Greetings, brave mercenaries!” sang the man, throwing his arms wide.

Ike and Titania pulled their horses to a halt, and everyone else staggered to a stop around them, fanning out to get a look at the Crimean noble.

His yellow hair was grayer than before, but it and his mustache and goatee were as finely groomed as ever. His emerald cloak had been exchanged for a more earthy green one, and he was lacking any of the golden adornments he’d worn in Melior. His subordinates were dressed in the same simple style, and although they weren’t obviously armed, Soren had little doubt they carried concealed weapons.

“Bastian,” Ike said, dismounting. He couldn’t hide his surprise. “Why are you here?”

Bastian put his hands on his hips and laughed. “The visage of stupefaction I see before me would be reward enough to justify the arduous journey!”

The rest of the mercenaries dropped from their saddles, stretching and grimacing. For Soren at least, the grimace was less from the hard ride and more from having to hear Bastian’s voice again.

“Would be,” Ike repeated, “but it’s not. You didn’t come all this way just to surprise us.” He stepped forward and shook Bastian’s hand.

The sage eyed him from head to toe. “You have grown well, o’ slayer of the mad king. Indeed I espy a shred of wit in you yet.”

Soren and Titania approached, and from this angle Soren could see Ike’s face screw up as he seemed to determine whether this was a compliment or an insult. In the meantime, Bastian kissed the back of Titania’s hand. “A gracious reunion this is, Captain Titania,” he greeted her.

“Well met, Lord Bastian.” She gave a formal bow as soon as he released her hand.

Soren didn’t offer his hand, let alone a bow, but Bastian turned to him anyway. “Ah, Mister Soren,” he greeted him, “in fine fettle as ever, I see.”

Soren just glared back, still irritated at the count for getting him in trouble with Ike.

“Shall we retire indoors?” Bastian gestured at the cabin. “The lodging may be modest, but there is tea to be found beyond those stodgy walls.”

Ike turned to the rest of the mercenaries. “Rest up out here!” he ordered, “Mist’s in charge.”

Everyone saluted or at least gestured that they’d heard him as they continued to ease their tight legs and backs. Soren followed Ike, Titania, and Bastian into the cabin.

The windows were open to the warm summer breeze, and Bastian served them fruit tea from a glass pitcher and even threw in few chunks of ice. Despite traveling in disguise, the noble clearly wanted to live in luxury. Soren was fairly certain he was just squatting in this cabin temporarily, and yet he’d fitted it with soft blankets, china plates, and a nice rug. (He even asked the trio remove their shoes at the door).

Lounging at the table in the center of the room, with cup in hand, Bastian finally explained his presence in Daein: “Dear Queen Elincia’s peers in the court have been testing and trialing her since the first hour of her historic ascendance,” he lamented. “Her youth, although inspiring to the people and quite lovely to gaze upon, was easy pray for those wolves in silk clothing.” He sighed mournfully but then glanced up with a grin, “But the queen had a wily old dog at her side.” He gestured flamboyantly at himself. “Together we fended off her many foes.”

He paused (perhaps waiting for praise), but Ike just asked, “So why did you leave her alone?”

“Loathe I was to do it!” Bastian draped himself across the table. “But, alas, it had to be done. To draw the wolves from their den, we must convince them the forest is safely theirs for the taking.” He picked himself up again, looking quite somber.

Soren had had enough of these theatrics. “You removed yourself to decrease the queen’s authority. But for how long? The court wouldn’t be so bold as to threaten her just because you disappeared for a couple weeks.”

Bastian nodded twice in quick succession. “It has been far too long since I last gazed upon the face of our fair queen,” he sighed. “Two months past, I departed as a special ambassador to the new Daein regency. My task now complete, I shan’t be returning to my blessed homeland. Nay, Crimea I cannot see until these threats are quite defeated.”

Titania rubbed her chin speculatively. “If you haven’t returned yet, those noble you spoke of could already be scrambling for power.”

“My agents of whispers report the very same,” Bastian agreed. “All I have predicted has come to pass.”

“So Crimea is really headed toward civil war?” Ike said, shaking his head in disbelief.

“How many of the royal houses have turned against the queen?” Soren asked. “Have they formed alliances yet”

Bastian nodded and held up all his fingers. “Families Ridell, Fayre, and Delbray shall remain loyal to the crown.” He waggled three fingers on his right hand. “Duke Ludveck of Falirae plays the role of chief agitator in this game, and no more or less than three other holds support him.” He clamped down four of the fingers on his left hand. “The remaining three families have yet to choose their sides, but these cowards are perhaps no more threatening than they are useless.” He threw up his hands and shrugged. “As for the masters of minor holds, they are but toddlers mimicking the gamboling of older children. They shall divide along similar lines, albeit more sloppily and without conviction.”

“What kind of forces are we dealing with here?” Ike asked, leaning in.

Bastian splayed his hands on the table top. “The core of the Royal Knights shall remain loyal to her majesty with the valiant Commander Geoffrey at their head.” He gestured to invisible miniature forces only he could see. “A coalition of civilians and my own agents shall defend her from the shadows, led by the talented Lady Lucia.” In the middle of the table, he pressed both hands down equally. “The laboring men and women of the Crimean Army shall raise their arms at the behest of the regional lords who spur their insecurities, but those whose hearts cannot be twisted so easily will flock to the capital in support of their queen.” He moved onto the final portion of the invisible army. “The resentments of the poor will manifest in the militia, of whom some blame the lords and others the crown for their sorrows.”

Everyone was silent for a few moments as they considered Bastian’s evaluation. Soren agreed with his predictions; they were obvious enough. “Felirae neighbors Melior,” he thought aloud, because no one had responded yet. “With a decisive strike, Ludveck could isolate Queen Elincia and end her reign before her allies can reach her. It all depends on how quickly he can galvanize his followers.”

“The hour is not so late as you fear,” Bastian countered calmly. “When Duke Felirae gazes into his mirror, he sees a hero of the people. He will not strike without them.”

“How long do we have?” Ike demanded, not sharing Bastian’s calm tone. “And where can we find this Ludveck guy?”

A knowing, close-lipped smile stretched across Bastian’s face. “Hold, o’ fervid lad,” he cautioned. “Killing Duke Felirae will avail us nothing. The law and naught but the law must disarm him.”

Ike frowned. “So we bust through his guards and arrest him. We can turn him over to Geoffrey after that.”

Bastian laughed. “As refreshing as the dawn, such naivete has not graced my ears in some time.”

Ike sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. “What do you want us to do then?”

“Have patience,” Bastian answered, raising a single finger, “Accept this contract and fly fast to Crimea. Find there a marvelous person, whom I am proud to call my deputy. She shall know when and where the Greil Mercenaries are to make their stand.”

“Is it that you don’t know the job or you don’t want to tell us?” Soren asked in annoyance. “We do not accept open-ended contracts.”

Bastian leaned his chin against his interwoven fingers. “Even I cannot foretell what fruits this treachery may bear, but I would beg of you, brave mercenaries, snatch victory away from these traitors’ mouths if ever they are so close as to taste it!” His eyes were dead serious despite his tone and body language.

“You want us to be your secret weapon?” Titania translated.

Bastian nodded once. “Indeed, a secret light so slim not even the Queen will see it approach amidst the growing dark.”

“She doesn’t know we’re coming?” Ike asked, confused.

“She does not, must not, and shall not—or so I would have you vow this day,” Bastian confirmed. “This stratagem relies on absolute secrecy and unequivocal patience. Forsooth, tell me now, are you equal to the task?”

“We’ll take the job,” Ike declared, and Soren was relieved this briefing would soon be over. He could hardly stand to listen to Bastian a moment longer.

The Count of Fayre bid the mercenaries farewell the next day, asking they give his best wishes to Elincia and apologize on his behalf when they eventually saw her again. Bastian claimed he still had business in Daein and could not return to Crimea until it was concluded. As to what that business was, he wouldn’t even give a poetically cryptic hint. Soren logged this suspicious behavior away in the back of his mind and focused on the task ahead.

The mercenaries were entering Crimea once again, but this time going unnoticed wasn’t just a whim. Being recognized would risk alerting the rebels to their presence. Ludveck’s troops would prepare for them, and any surprise attack they might launch could be countered. Worse still, the mercenaries could be targeted, with enemies of the queen looking to eliminate them before they united with her.

To avoid this, Ike and the others did use assumed names this time (of which Soren was given the unfortunate appellation ‘Vernon’), and they never used the name Greil Mercenaries. In fact, they didn’t claim to be mercenaries at all and didn’t look for small jobs along the way. They kept their weapons concealed, and despite the claustrophobic summer heat, they travelled with their hoods up all day (Soren especially). Thanks to their steeds from the refugee jobs, they set a quick pace for the town Bastian had marked on their map. 

They hadn’t been able to enter Crimea via one of the main ports of entry (or risk being recognized by Royal Knights), so they’d picked their way through the mountains until coming to a rope bridge Bastian had assured them was safe. (Unfortunately the horses hadn’t seemed to believe it, and getting each one across had been a lengthy process.) This smugglers’ bridge had put them on a more direct path to Melior than either Oribes or Riven Bridge could have, and it was in a town just beyond the outskirts of Melior that they were supposed to meet Bastian’s deputy.

Other than the person’s codename, the mercenaries had nothing to base their search on. However, Soren recognized the name of the town instantly. “This was where I addressed my messages to Bastian,” he told Ike reluctantly. (Although he had grudgingly forgiven him, that didn’t mean Soren liked reminding him of the treachery.) “I suggest we find the nearest office of the Royal Post. Bastian likely has a plant there.”

Ike agreed, and the mercenaries plodded toward the center of town. 

“Took you long enough,” was the greeting that met them as soon as they passed through the door. A woman was leaning against the wall behind the counter with her arms folded. Her hair was gray and grim creases lined her cheeks and mouth, and yet she didn’t appear terribly aged. Her slender body still looked strong, her skin healthy, and her dark eyes bright.

“Are you Calgary?” Ike asked in response to her chastisement.

“To you I will be,” she replied. “But I have many names.”

“I’m Ike,” he replied simply, “And these are the Greil Mercenaries.” By the way he was standing tall, Soren knew he was enjoying using their names again, even if only for a moment. “From this point on, you’re our proxy contract holder. Tell us what you need us to do.”

Calgary made her way around the counter as she seemed to assess the mercenaries. Then she turned her gaze to the windows, beyond which the overcast sky promised imminent rain. “We’re going scouting,” she announced. A moment later, she was pushing them out of the shop and pinning a ‘closed’ notice on the locked door.

Calgary collected an all-gray pegasus from the stables behind the post office, and Soren noticed the woman herself was dressed in gray boots, gray trousers, and now a gray coat and gloves. He had no doubt that she could fly completely invisibly on a day like this—as long as she didn’t mind getting wet. And it seemed she didn’t care if the mercenaries ended up soaked to the bone either. She swiftly gave them their marks, and Ike broke them into pairs. Their mission was to gain insight into how the surrounding villages were leaning in the coming conflict. They were to watch and listen but not interrogate or interfere.

“We reconvene here after nightfall,” she said sternly. “Do not let yourselves be recognized or waylaid.”

“We know how to keep a low profile,” Ike assured her.

“Check the bars where men go to escape the rain. They may argue amongst themselves until they come to blows, but you must not intervene.”

Ike waved his hand. “We’ve got it.”

Calgary nodded as if satisfied. “We go now,” she said, with that, she leapt her pegasus into the sky.

“You have your orders,” Ike said after she was gone. “Do the scouting like she says, but don’t get too close.”

Everyone saluted or shouted, “Aye, Boss!” and a couple minutes later, Soren was on the road out of town with Boyd trotting beside him. A minute after that, the sky opened up, and a warm yet unforgiving drizzle began.

Calgary proved to be the exact opposite of Bastian, given her distaste for nonsense and wasted time, but she was also utterly loyal to him. The spies she controlled were, in turn, utterly loyal to her. Over the next two weeks, she monitored the movement of troops and the coalescing of militia forces in the holds around Melior. Geoffrey was currently leading an assault on Felirae in order to crush the insurgents, but it was clear to Soren that the flames of rebellion had already escaped Felirae and were spreading into Melior and beyond. 

Calgary’s spies reported what Lucia’s spies were doing, but from their reports, Soren gathered that the two networks weren’t working together or sharing information. While Lucia’s agents did what they could to suppress rebel lies, investigate traitors, and (when they could) instigate infighting among the enemy, Calgary’s spies did nothing. This meant the mercenaries too did nothing. Ike grew increasingly frustrated, but Titania assured him their patience was giving Elincia a chance to prove herself as queen.

One day, news arrived that Ludveck had thwarted Geoffrey by escaping Felirae with a large army. He was marching toward Melior, which now lacked the protection of the Royal Knights. “We move now,” Calgary announced. “This is the endgame.”

“Is Commander Geoffrey alive?” Titania asked tentatively.

“The Royal Knights’ cavalry regiment was hit hard at the siege of Castle Felirae,” she replied with a shake of her head. “It was by a third party I acquired this information; I do not know the details.”

“If a single knight survived, they will be hot on Ludveck’s trail,” Ike assured.

Calgary nodded as if to say she agreed. “We must get closer to the situation.” 

They rode out immediately and took up residence in another of Calgary’s haunts, this one located in Melior’s northeastern district. This region had higher elevation than most of the city, and if they picked the right spot, they had a clear view of both Melior Castle and (with a spyglass) Orinos, the closest Feliraen city.

If Ludveck laid siege against Melior Castle from here, he would be doing so from the rear, which would be far less effective given the terrain and fortifications. This simple fact worked in Elincia’s favor. She just had to stay behind her walls. But Soren knew it wasn’t that simple. The second Ludveck’s army entered the city, fighting would break out in every street. Fear, confusion, and anger would turn neighbors against each other. What had been limited to brawls and public arguments the past few weeks would turn to bloodshed in an instant.

To avoid this, Elincia could ride to meet Ludveck in the fields between Orinos and Melior. But without fortifications, the fight would be far harder. And without the disciplined Royal Knights at the heart of her army, Elincia could certainly lose.

“I know what you are thinking,” Calgary noted, lowering her spyglass to glance down at him. The pair had come to the highest point in the city to get a view of the northern plains. When Soren did not reply, she handed him the spyglass. “But because you are thinking, you do not see. Take a closer look.”

Soren did not know where she intended him to look, but he surveyed the plains with the spyglass anyway.

“The road,” Calgary offered.

Soren turned his attention to the main road leading north out of Melior. “The air is dusty,” he observed. “Given that the dry season is long over, only a large number of troops and horses would kick up that much dirt. Queen Elincia, it seems, has gone to make her stand elsewhere.” He scanned the horizon looking for a likely destination, and to his surprise he felt Calgary’s hand on the top of his head, rotating his gaze to the west. People didn’t usually touch him so familiarly, but even worse was the demeaning nature of the action. His shoulders spiked, but he didn’t lower the glass. When she let go, he saw a tiny white blur against the bottom of the sky, which might have been the top of a castle.

“Fort Alpea,” Calgary declared. “That is where I would go. I am waiting now for my scouts to confirm.” 

“I will tell Ike not to get too comfortable,” Soren said in reply. He returned the spyglass and started picking his way down the lookout’s old stone steps. They were carved into the bare rock and worn slick with the passing of untold feet. However, an itching in the back of Soren’s mind caused him to stop and glance back up at Calgary. Instead of looking out at the plains, she had turned around, and her gaze fell on the city blocks unfolding like a maze below her. Her brow was pulled together as if deep in thought, and Soren wondered what ominous feeling she was struggling with. It was a bit unsettling, because until now, the woman had always seemed completely unaffected by her investigations. 

A couple hours later, her perturbed expression proved warranted. “Lady Lucia has been captured,” she announced. She and the Greil Mercenaries were sitting in the basement of the tiny shack that was her hideaway. There was hardly room for them all, and the air was stale. “Last night. I just received confirmation.”

The reaction from the mercenaries was appropriately shocked and concerned.

“Her hair was sent to Queen Elincia as a threat before she left the city, which implies they are keeping her alive for now. That being said, I do not believe the queen left with her tail between her legs. She aims to defeat Ludveck’s army at Fort Alpea.”

“Alpea is not as well-fortified as Melior,” Titania mused, rubbing her hands against each other as if in thought, “and it can be easily surrounded. There will be little chance for retreat if the worst should happen.”

“It is a gambit,” Calgary agreed, “but the Queen would not have made this choice lightly.”

“Are we riding for Fort Alpea?” Ike sounded like he wanted to be part of the fight.

“Not yet,” Calgary cautioned. “First we must uncover the location they are holding Lucia. If she is still in the city, we could rescue her.”

“How do we help?” Ike asked, easily adapting to this new plan.

“Most of her personal guards were killed, but one or two may have made it to their safehouse. Following their blood trails was easy enough, but my spies cannot gain access due to the monster that guards the door.”

“Monster?” Soren repeated doubtfully.

“I believe you know him. His name is Largo.”

The laughter that overtook the mercenaries was enough to cause even Calgary to crack a smile. “Ike, go to him and interrogate Lady Lucia’s agents. If they have not succumbed to their injuries, they may remember some detail that will help us find her.”

Ike’s grim expression returned, and he nodded. “Just point us to this safehouse; we’ll take care of the rest.”


	34. CHAPTER 65: RADIANT DAWN

The ‘safehouse’ was merely the tavern Calill and Largo managed together, and its only fortifications were the shuttered windows and ‘closed’ sign on the door. Ike pounded on the old wood slab, calling, “Open up, Largo! This is your general speaking.”

A soft, unhurried thumping came from inside, but no response.

“Come on, Largo, we need a world-class berserker! Know any around here?” Ike pushed. Soren thought it was a poor ploy to prove his identity, because he had no doubt Largo introduced himself that way to everyone.

There was no answer, but Soren was suddenly distracted from Ike’s coaxing by a strange nagging that tugged at his senses. He felt there was something obvious he was supposed to be noticing, like a familiar scent in the air.

Before he could identify it, Largo’s good-natured voice finally called from inside: “Hold your horses, puny general.” This was followed by the metal clunk of locks being undone on the other side of the door. A moment later, it swung open, and Largo was there, absolutely filling the doorframe. “Took you lot long enough to visit,” he greeted them, but no one responded immediately.

Largo’s slicked-back indigo hair, chinstrap beard, and wide smile were a familiar sight, but the rest of him had changed. His armor and fur cape were gone, and he was actually wearing a shirt for once. His height and mass were still impressive, but his bulk had softened and his shoulders looked more relaxed. Most striking of all, however, was the tall crutch under his arm and the fact that his left pantleg was tied in a knot, hanging where a knee should have been.

“Largo…” Ike pulled his gaze away from the injury and clearly forced himself to meet the man’s eye. “You’re right; it’s been too long.” He smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

Largo grinned back. “Come inside! Take a seat.” He shuffled to make room for the mercenaries. When Ike passed, he raised his hand as if to measure his height and screwed up his face in confusion. “You always been this tall, or did you have a late growth spurt?”

“Not so puny now,” Ike chuckled, swatting his hand away.

Once Soren stepped inside, his surprise at Largo’s missing leg was completely replaced by a new shock. He realized what he’d been missing before: there was a Branded here. Twisting his gaze to the source of the sensation, Soren saw a young girl hiding behind the bar. Since she was peeking out at them, Soren could only see her eyes and hair, which were both the deep pink color of wine. Those eyes were currently as big as saucers, and she was staring straight at him.

Since he’d frozen just inside the doorway, Shinon went out of his way to bump into him. “Move, twerp,” he hissed, and that was enough to force him to forget the girl for now. He stepped into the gloomy room with the rest of the mercenaries and looked around. It seemed like a regular bar, with no sign of hidden, injured spies.

“Calill not around?” Ike asked once they were all inside.

Largo locked the door behind them and shook his head. “She’s off fighting with Queen Elincia right now. A lot has changed in four years, but some things don’t.” He grinned contentedly. “That fiery gal can still fight like ever.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Ike agreed.

Largo hobbled smoothly across the room with the use of his crutch, making for the counter. “It’s just me and Amy right now, so I’ve been keeping the bar closed. But the beer’s still good if you want.”

Ike sat on a stool, and Soren stood beside him, trying to ignore the little Branded. Ike, however, didn’t ignore the girl. “Is this Amy?” he asked.

“She’s _adorable_ ,” Titania crooned, coming up on the other side. In response, the girl finally stopped staring at Soren and retreated shyly. “Is she yours?”

“Yup, this here’s Amy,” Largo replied proudly. “Say hello, Amikins,” he pushed her gently, but when she just turned away instead, he didn’t force her. “She’s still shy around big groups of strangers.” While he pulled a few glasses from the shelves, he continued, “Amy is Cal and mine in all but blood. She was orphaned as a baby, such a tiny little thing when we found her. But now Cal and I can’t imagine our lives without her.”

“That’s amazing, Largo.” Ike shook his head in disbelief. “I’m happy for you.”

Mist and Rolf were now leaning over the bar on the other side of Titania, and all three were talking to Amy, trying to coax her with coos and kind words. Soren tuned them out and tried not to think about the fact that Amy looked about four years old, which meant she was likely conceived during the narrow window of time when both a beast and hawk army had been stationed in Crimea. Forbidden love, a perverted fling, or savage rape—it was impossible to know by what crime she’d been conceived. All that mattered was that beorc and laguz had been in the same place at the same time. _Is that really all it takes to spawn more creatures like me?_ Soren couldn’t stop the thought from entering his mind. _Is the only solution for beorc and laguz to stay behind their own borders and never interact?_

When he finally wrestled himself away from these thoughts, he was able to gather that Ike, Gatrie, and Largo were discussing his missing leg while Boyd, Rhys, Mia, and Oscar were listening sympathetically. “There was a real bad bandit raid a couple years back,” Largo explained, “But these were more monsters than men, I tell you.” He gesticulated to show how vast these supposed bandits were. “Truly huge and ferocious, pulling bears on chains and waving around clubs the size of house timbers! Must have been a hundred of them—no, two hundred!”

“This is not why we are here.” Soren nudged Ike, not wanting to hear another of Largo’s tall tales.

Largo’s story died on his lips, and Ike grew suddenly somber.

“It’s not, huh?” Largo asked, sounding intrigued.

Ike shook his head regretfully. “Lucia’s in trouble. We heard some of her soldiers might be here.”

Largo raised his chin and grinned knowingly. “Ah, so you’re working for Elincia again too, just like Cal. Nice to have the band back together.”

Ike cocked his head to the side. “Actually, we’re working for Bastian. Elincia doesn’t know we’re here, and we’d like to keep it that way.”

“My lips are sealed,” Largo assured, raising a hand as if in a vow. “Though—you might have already heard—Calill, Queen Elincia, Haar, and everybody else has already left the city.”

“We heard,” Ike agreed. “But first thing’s first—do you have a backroom?”

Largo laughed and called to Amy: “Amikins, let’s introduce our guests to the fellows in the back!”

  


As Calgary had predicted, two of Lucia’s agents had survived the ambush. Largo had treated their wounds enough to stabilize them, but they were obviously grateful to Mist and Rhys, who were able to repair the flesh completely. After a brief introduction from Largo, the two plainclothes soldiers trusted the mercenaries enough to report everything they’d seen and heard the previous night.

Unfortunately, neither of them had a clue where Lucia had been taken, which meant this mission was a failure. After leaving Largo’s tavern, Ike convinced the mercenaries to take the long way back to Calgary’s hideaway, and despite the danger of being seen and recognized, they investigated the half-empty warehouse where the ambush had occurred.

The bodies of Lucia’s fallen agents were gone, but there were still bloodstains on the ground to show where they’d died. The mercenaries found nothing else. Seeing as none of them were expert trackers, Soren wasn’t surprised they couldn’t find anything Lucia’s or Calgary’s agents had missed.

  


Back at the hideaway, Calgary wasn’t disappointed by their failure. “It was worth a shot,” she said with a shrug. “Any more time spent searching for the Heir to Delbray would be a waste. We ride for Alpea now.”

“What will we do when we get there?” Ike asked, even as he tied a customary band around his forehead.

“If Alpea falls, you will break the enemy’s ranks long enough to allow Queen Elincia to pass through and escape,” Calgary answered calmly. “But your mercenaries must hide in the trees until the last possible moment. A surprise attack may be the only thing that gets Her Majesty out of that fort alive.”

Ike gritted his teeth in annoyance.

Calgary narrowed her eyes. “That is Bastian’s plan for you. The Greil Mercenaries are his last resort. Do you understand?”

Ike nodded stiffly. “We’ll honor our employer’s wishes.”

  


Ludveck’s army had broken through the fort’s southern and western gates by the time they arrived. While they watched from afar, Elincia led her troops by relaying orders from the tiered fort’s highest balcony. She was dressed in full armor, and her pegasus stood patiently behind her. Princess Leanne, garbed only in a light pink gown, stood beside her singing galdr to bless the troops below. Soren wasn’t surprised to see her, because Calgary’s spies had already reported that the heron princess had been visiting Melior at an inconvenient time and been accidentally caught up in the conflict. Two ballistae shot rocks at Ludveck’s troops at the base of the fort, and once in a while, Calill would drop a well-placed fireball on their heads using Meteor.

Despite the defense Elincia had mustered, Ludveck’s forces were steadily gaining ground. Soren knew Ike wanted to join the fight, but he was a seasoned commander, not some hot-headed teen, and he remained composed as he watched the battle unfold.

Just when all hope seemed lost and Soren expected Elincia to call for evacuation, the distant thunder of hooves drew his attention to the east, and he wasn’t the only one to notice. “Could it be?” Titania gasped.

Rolf scrambled up a tree as quick as he could and called down to the others: “It’s Commander Geoffrey! The Royal Knights are here!”

A moment later, they exploded from the woodland road, successfully broadsiding the vestiges of the Ludveck’s army still outside the walls. A portion of the rebel forces immediately lost their nerve, and many turned and fled into the woods. The Greil Mercenaries hid themselves behind trees, boulders, and bushes to avoid notice—not that these cowards were paying much attention to their surroundings.

The reinforcements boosted the morale of the garrison forces, and even Elincia mounted her pegasus to join the fray. Together she and Geoffrey vanquished the rebel army, took dozens of prisoners (including Ludveck himself), and sent the remaining soldiers running and sobbing in fear and regret. 

“I guess she didn’t need us,” Ike said after watching these events unfold in silence. From his tone it was hard for Soren to tell how he felt about that fact.

“Should we go congratulate her or something?” Mia offered.

“Not yet,” Calgary cut in. “You will be paid no matter what, so bear with me a while longer.” She furrowed her brow again as if thinking about something that unsettled her. “We passed a village not far from here; let’s retire there until I hear from my scouts.”

“We’ll follow your instincts,” Ike conceded, and they left Fort Alpea behind.

  


In a barn at the edge of town, the mercenaries waited. While the others whispered among themselves and discussed the battle they’d just observed, Soren took a moment to assemble his thoughts. The time had come to reunite with Elincia: their former employer and—as far as he was concerned—Ike’s old flame. Soren was more nervous than expected. Just an hour ago, he’d watched Ike’s face staring at the queen from afar, and he’d seen a level of reverence bordering on pain in the squint of his eyes. Clearly Ike was as inspired by Elincia as she had once been by him, and it must have taken all his self-control not to fight at her side.

But then Elincia had won the battle without Ike’s aid, and his face had changed, becoming calm and turning to stone. Now he was talking to Mist and Rolf, and he seemed to be behaving normally. Soren wondered what he could be thinking.

Turning his thoughts away from the queen, he next recalled the Branded girl Amy, who was currently under Largo’s care back in Melior. He had seen no sign of her mark, which meant it must be in a place that was easy to conceal, like Koure’s or Stefan’s. But surely Calill and Largo had seen it. _Do they know what it means?_ he wondered, _Do they know what she is? Did they choose to take her in anyway?_ He doubted it; more likely they mistook the Brand for a mere birthmark.

He wondered if the girl would grow up tormented by ignorance. Would she one day seek answers in the Royal Library or travel all the way to Sienne as he had? Or maybe she would try to track down her true parents as Koure was doing. Perhaps she would find the Grann colony, in ten years or twenty. Fifty years could pass and she could still be searching for answers that didn’t exist. Maybe then she would give up and join the colonists, who were sure to still be there. The thought turned Soren’s stomach. He didn’t know what he wanted for the little girl other than to never have been born in the first place.

Forcing himself to forget Amy, Soren tried to think about the loose ends left by this civil war. Would Elincia execute Ludveck for treason? Would there be a trial? Would the rebellion’s other leadership face the same consequences? Would she pardon or prosecute the soldiers who’d been captured, and would she seek to track down those who’d fled? His thoughts turned to Lucia, who was still missing. He wondered if she was alive, and if so, whether her captors would turn her loose or kill her now that their rebellion was in shambles.

“You look troubled,” Titania observed, coming to sit beside him. “Do you think this battle is not yet over?”

Soren scowled. “The battle is won,” he countered, “Elincia achieved a decisive victory today. I am merely contemplating the next battle; and I am not troubled by it.” 

“The constipated look on your face says different,” teased Boyd, coming to lean against the wall beside them.

Soren did not deign to respond.

Boyd yawned and crossed his arms. “I just hope we can leave soon. I feel like we’ve been nothing but cooped up for ages.”

Titania opened her mouth to say something (probably to expound upon the virtues of patience), but then Calgary burst through the barn door, immediately silencing everyone’s conversations. “Bad news!” she announced, “You may be needed after all.”

“What happened?” demanded Ike.

“Is Queen Elincia in trouble?” asked Mist.

“The Queen is safe in Alpea,” she assured, “But the surviving rebels are demanding a trade: Duke Ludveck for Lady Lucia. If the Queen refuses, they will execute Lucia before the fort walls. They are building the gibbet as we speak.” 

“Do you know where she is now? We’ll rescue her,” Ike vowed.

Calgary raised a calming hand. “We must see what the Queen decides.”

“If she knew we could rescue Lucia for her, there’s no way she’d give up Ludveck,” Ike argued.

“True...” Calgary sighed. “But Lord Bastian would want her to make her own decision without that knowledge.”

Ike growled in his throat. “This isn’t some sort of test or a game. Lucia’s life is on the line!”

“Lord Bastian hired you only to be a last resort,” Calgary said definitively. “Continue to trust his judgement.”

Ike gave in. “Fine.”

“The rebels will be expecting a rescue attempt,” Soren spoke up, adding his own logic to Calgary’s decision. “They will be guarding Lucia closely, and they will be nervous. Acting rashly could get her killed even sooner.”

This seemed to resonate with Ike more than Calgary’s blind order. He nodded at Soren in thanks. “What’s the plan then?” he asked, and his gaze was still directed at him.

Taking a deep breath, Soren recalled the clearing outside Fort Alpea. The surrounding woods had both tall, climbable trees and underbrush thick and varied enough to provide cover. It was a decent place for an ambush, but the mercenaries would need more than that if they were going to save Lucia from the noose. “Alright,” he began, “Here are our options…”

  


It was easy enough for Soren to slip into the growing crowd, which was filling with local villagers as well as the soldiers and militia who’d escaped this morning’s battle. For a disguise he wore a dusty brown cloak to hide his robes and a straw hat tilted forward to hide his Brand.

Shifting his gaze to the side, he could see Lucia standing on the scaffold. Her long, blue hair had been chopped short to her jawline, and it was smeared with dried blood from a wound on her head. Her face was bruised, and both her porcelain skin and once-white tunic were torn and filthy. Her hands were bound behind her back, and a loop of rope was already draped around her neck. A soldier in Crimean armor stood on either side.

Turning his gaze back to the crowd, Soren caught sight of Mist, who was walking hunched over and using her staff as a walking stick. She wore a patchy gray cloak with the hood pulled over her head to hide both her youth and the sword tied at her waist. When she turned toward him, she caught his eye and gave a small smile. The braids she’d been growing for years were now gone, and her hair was as short as it’d been during the Mad King’s War.

In the frantic minutes the company had had to prepare their disguises, several of the mercenaries had taken extra time to cut their hair, shave their faces, and make themselves look well-kempt for their return to the public eye.

Turning away from Mist, Soren let the crowd carry him along until he determined that Mia, Rhys, and Ike were also in position. Their disguises seemed to be working—even Ike, for whom it had been hard to acquire a cloak large enough to cover his steel greaves, his gauntlets, the pauldron that protected his left arm, and the broadsword whose hilt jutted above his right shoulder. Soren had advised him to hunch over and walk slowly, but even so, his bulky form looked suspicious.

“Queen of Crimea!” shouted the rebel leader—a man wearing the plumed helmet of an army captain. He stood at the base of the scaffold and pointed an accusing finger at the fort. At his call, the crowd hushed. “We demand that you release the Duke of Felirae! Refuse, and Lady Lucia will die!”

Tilting his head as far as he could without dislodging his hat, Soren caught a glimpse of Elincia standing on the battlements above the main gate. Geoffrey was standing beside her, which was a good indication the Royal Knights weren’t about to launch an assault against the crowd. (Soren, for one, didn’t want to find himself caught on the end of a cavalry pike).

“No!” Elincia called back, with an authority that spread ripples of unease through the crowd.

“You have half a mark! If the Duke is not released by then, the girl dies!”

“Queen Elincia,” Lucia croaked, trying to raise her voice as much as possible. “Don’t listen to them! Don’t worry about me!” Her eyes were fierce, and she was standing tall despite her injuries.

But the rebel captain didn’t appreciate her outburst. “Quiet!” he ordered, “You can die sooner, if you like!” He gestured sharply at one of her guards, who promptly stuck her in the ribs with the end of the spear. The blade went in and out in a flash.

“ _Gah!_ ” Lucia’s whole body convulsed against the pain, pulling the noose tighter to her neck. She tried to stand straight again, but a new bloodstain was spreading down her side. Soren wondered if she would survive the half hour the captain had given Elincia to decide.

Returning his gaze to the battlements, Soren could see Elincia and Geoffrey arguing, but he couldn’t hear a word. The murmuring of the crowd rose again; people began chanting and jeering. Elincia promptly turned and disappeared, but Geoffrey remained, glaring down at the people threatening to kill his sister. 

Soren, meanwhile, moved about the crowd. Whenever he had a view of the woods, he tried to determine where Titania, Gatrie, Oscar, and Boyd were waiting, but there was no sign of them. Glancing at the tree where he knew Rolf and Shinon were stationed, he was satisfied to see no shadow or motion betraying them. The minutes ticked by, but the mercenaries stayed in hiding. As Calgary had reminded them yet again before sending them off, they were only to act as a last resort. They had to wait for Elincia’s decision.

Eventually she reappeared on the battlements, and the crowd quieted again. “Rebel soldiers, hear me! Ludveck of Felirae, having conspired against the nation, will stand trial. As the queen and ruler of Crimea, I refuse to negotiate with those bent on destroying it.”

“So you’re gonna let this girl die!” the rebel captain cried in frustration.

“Hah!” Lucia coughed victoriously, bringing up blood that dribbled down her chin. She was still trying to stand straight.

The guard who hadn’t stabbed her took this chance to kick her in the calf. “ _Tch_ ,” he complained when she didn’t fall, “Kick, scream, beg—give us a show, wench!”

But Lucia remained composed. Soren wondered if she’d caught sight of Ike creeping toward the base of the scaffold or if she really was prepared to die.

“Your highness!” called the captain, “Your trusted friend will now die. Let this burn forever in your memory!”

“People of Crimea…” Lucia seemed to summon the last of her strength. She was shaking now, and her voice was hoarse with blood. “Behold your true queen! _Your_ queen! Long live Queen Elincia!”

Now was the time. Soren counted the soldiers closest to him and those between him and Ike. He brought one hand to the neck of his cloak and the other to the spell book on his hip. His lips were ready to begin incanting.

But the shot didn’t come.

It should have come as soon as Elincia had made her announcement, but Soren could understand why Rolf might want to give Lucia a chance to spout her inspiring words. Shinon, on the other hand, wouldn’t have wanted to wait, and neither of them should be delaying now. The executioner was moving to the lever. His hands were on it now. Lucia’s eyes were closed.

Soren wondered if he’d overestimated Rolf and Shinon’s abilities. Perhaps neither one could make the shot at such a distance. Or perhaps they’d been discovered and already taken out. In a worst-case scenario, Soren could cut the rope himself, but from this distance, he would probably hit Lucia as well. He started whispering the words, but then, finally, an arrow came sailing through the air.

It cut through the rope a foot above Lucia’s head, imbedding itself in the gibbet’s timber. The executioner pulled the lever, but Ike called Lucia’s name as he ripped off his cloak and closed the distance between them. With whatever energy she had left, she pushed herself forward, falling from the scaffold and landing in Ike’s arms. 

“The queen’s men are attacking!” called one of the rebel soldiers, and the entire crowd exploded in an uproar.

Soren cast aside his own disguise at the same moment he released his prepared Wind spell into the soldiers before of him. They were facing Ike, not expecting an attack from behind. Soren wasted no time chanting a second spell, a stronger one this time. The vicious gales swept the soldiers’ feet out from under them, tore into their armor, flung their helmets from their heads, and bit into their flesh like the jaws of a dozen hungry hounds. Then Soren conjured a blunt tunnel of wind, clearing a path to Ike. Now he could see his friend successfully fending off his attackers with one hand while holding Lucia’s unconscious body over his shoulder with the other.

Titania and Oscar had already reached the crowd, with Gatrie and Boyd sitting on the back of their saddles. Gatrie leapt off as close to Ike as he could, fighting his way to his commander. Oscar dropped Boyd on the other side. Then he and Titania set about picking off soldiers in strategic lines, thereby separating the vulnerable civilians from those with weapons. Some of the villagers starting throwing stones, but many had fled as soon as fighting had broken out and still others formed a heard of gawking faces.

Soren was exposed where he was standing, and he was out of Rolf and Shinon’s range, so he couldn’t count on their support. Soldiers were moving in on him fast, and he was going to get stabbed or worse if he didn’t change tactics. But he also needed to prevent Ike from becoming surrounded long enough to get Lucia to safety. (If she’d been fit to fight, the plan had been to cut her bonds and give her a sword, but as things were, this battle had a different objective).

Soren was aware of Mia dashing toward him. She was cutting down soldiers left and right, which made her a more desirable target for their blades. Finally she reached him and dispatched a couple of soldiers whose strikes he’d narrowly avoided a moment ago. “Soren!” she scolded cheerfully while slicing open the neck of a spearmen charging at him. “Always lost in your book. What have I said about watching your back?”

Soren shot her an annoyed glance but didn’t stop chanting. 

“Form up!” the captain bellowed. “Surround them all. Don’t let a single one escape!” Despite his confident tone, he was cut down by Titania’s poleaxe only a few seconds later.

His troops followed his command, however, and were trying to surround Ike and Gatrie. Soren focused on building an even wider tunnel. He didn’t need to cut anyone, but he had to knock them down to make a path. This time he succeeded, and Oscar rushed in to take Lucia from Ike.

Next Soren directed a similar spell in the opposite direction, opening up a path toward the crowd of civilians where Rhys and Mist were waiting. The plan was for Rhys to heal Lucia while Mist guarded them. Ideally they’d be safe among the villagers, who would make perfect human shields as long as they didn’t try to wrestle Lucia’s body out of Rhys’s hands. (If that happened, Mist would have to prove her blade’s sharpness).

After delivering Lucia, Oscar wasted no time returning to the fray, and Soren was free to cast spells in every direction, fending off the soldiers who were now trying to murder him in earnest. The Greil Mercenaries may have had the element of surprise, but they were vastly outnumbered. Even though Titania had taken out the enemy commander relatively quickly, someone else with a loud voice had since taken charge, and the persistent rebels refused to disband and flee. The mercenaries wouldn’t last without reinforcements.

Fortunately, Geoffrey didn’t keep them waiting long. The gates pulled open, and the Royal Knights poured out, their horses snorting and nickering from the excitement. Soren saw familiar faces among the cavalry: Kieran, Marcia, Astrid, and Makalov. The latter three were wearing new armor cut in the Crimean style, but their colors remained the same as the custom armor they’d worn during the Mad King’s War. Other than that, the years seemed not to have changed them much.

Geoffrey, on the other hand, was wearing the helmet and finery of the Commander of the Royal Knights, and he’d exchanged his lime-green armor for royal blue steel. He made a beeline for his sister, and the villagers who’d stayed this long finally ran for their lives. When they were gone, only Mist, Rhys, and Lucia were left.

Soren sent a final wind spell at a retreating soldier, cutting open both his knees from behind. The rebel fell into the dirt screaming but unable to run. He would probably be taken prisoner and survive to stand trial. Soren didn’t really care about that, though. This particular man had carved a nasty cut into his shoulder when he’d been distracted by the incoming cavalry, and that warranted retaliation.

He let the rest of the rebels escape, and even the Royal Knights pulled to a halt once they reached the woods. Looking around the clearing, Soren was satisfied to see the now-empty scaffold presiding over a spent battlefield of corpses and writhing, injured men and women. All of the mercenaries had survived with wounds no worse than the one currently dripping warm blood down his back. Geoffrey trotted up to Ike, and they clasped forearms.

Crimea’s brief civil war was over. The Greil Mercenaries had declared their return loud and clear. And Soren was suddenly filled with the inexplicable feeling that he’d missed a chance to do something important.


	35. CHAPTER 66: THE LAGUZ ALLIANCE

The Greil Mercenaries strutted into Fort Alpea, where they were applauded and embraced by old comrades from the war. In addition to Leanne, Calill, and Haar, Elincia had had the aid of Nephenee, Brom, Lethe, and Mordecai in this battle. Nephenee also introduced the mercenaries to a new friend of hers named Heather, and Makalov re-introduced them to Devdan, which was confusing to everyone because Devdan was now pretending not to know them and introducing himself as “Danved” instead. Ike seemed incredibly perplexed by this personality change, but before he could demand to get to the bottom of it, Elincia strode into the bailey and everyone’s chatter quieted.

“You have my most profound gratitude, Mercenaries of Greil,” she declared serenely, inclining her head and raising her arms in a curtsy. She was still dressed in her gleaming white armor and golden battle crown, with a gossamer cape billowing behind her. And although Soren knew for a fact that she’d wielded her sword this morning, there wasn’t a single drop of blood marring her outfit.

Ike seemed momentarily lost for words as he took in four years’ change in her face, but then he found his tongue: “It was no problem…”

“Please, come inside.” She swept one arm graciously behind her and proceeded back into the fort. The mercenaries followed, along with Geoffrey, who’d dismounted and was now walking with a woozy-looking Lucia leaning on his arm. Soon they were sitting on some benches in the relative privacy of the main hall. “Sir Ike…” Elincia began again, sounding more like her old self. “If you hadn’t come to help. I would have lost one of my dearest friends.” Reaching out, she squeezed Lucia’s hand. “Thank you… Thank you ever so much.”

Mist and Rhys moved among the benches, tending their comrades’ injuries, although they obviously tried to be polite by making their movements slow and quiet.

“We were happy to do it,” Ike answered with a shake of his head. Like Elincia, he was standing. As an officer, Soren had also refused to take a seat and now stood rigidly to the side. Titania was sitting with one leg outstretched, but that was understandable given what appeared to be a swollen (and potentially crushed) ankle. “And Bastian pays well for mercenary work,” Ike added. 

“Bastian?” Elincia repeated in surprise.

“Yeah.” Ike smiled to the side, clearly becoming more comfortable after the initial shock of seeing her again. “The Count of Fayre knew about Ludveck’s plotting before he left for Daein. Bastian guessed that if he left the country, the rebels would feel confident enough to make their move.” Elincia looked stunned, but Ike just shrugged as if to say the results spoke for themselves. “What else would you expect from Crimea’s top tactician?” His eye momentarily slid to Soren’d, where he winked before looking back at Elincia. “Well, Crimea’s most deceptive old dog, at any rate.” Soren was not as flattered as he was surprised that Ike was suddenly relaxed enough to talk and joke like he and Elincia were nothing more than old friends.

“Yes, that’s just like him…” She shook her head and gave a small laugh.

“Sorry that we had to stay hidden until the last minute. For a ruse like that to work, you have to deceive allies as well as enemies.” His voice grew suddenly somber. “I know you were acting in Crimea’s best interests, but I’m sorry you had to let that happen to Lucia.” His gaze moved to the pale swordswoman, as if to share his apology with her too.

“No…” Lucia took a steadying breath and turned her face to Elincia. “It worked out fine in the end. Please put it out of your mind.” Although Rhys had healed her wounds, she still looked starved, exhausted, weak from blood loss, and likely concussed. But her voice was firm.

“Lucia, Geoffrey—” Elincia reached out for their hands now “—I value your lives more than even my own. But it is my duty to protect this country, even if that means losing you. I’ve learned a lot from all of this. I hope to keep you out of harm’s way, and I’ll never make the same mistakes again.” Lucia stood to embrace her, and Geoffrey leapt from his seat to kneel with his head bowed. For a few seconds, their voices overlapped as each assured the others that they were going to protect one another, that they all felt the same way, and so on.

When this episode was over and Geoffrey was helping Lucia sit back down, Ike spoke again. “Good to hear,” he said, clapping his hands together. “So…what are you going to do about all of the escaped rebel soldiers?”

Elincia straightened her spine and grew serious. “The rebel army will be eradicated. We cannot allow them to sow the seeds of discontent among the people of Crimea.”

“That sounds like the right choice.” Ike nodded his approval. (And although Soren disagreed, he said nothing about the fact that discontent was already widespread, seeds or no seeds.) “Would you consider contracting my company for the job?” Ike gestured at the sitting mercenaries, who immediately tried to look strong and confident. Mist and Rhys stopped what they were doing to stand at attention.

Elincia ran her eyes over them with a wane smile. “…No, Sir Ike,” she finally said. “I’ll leave that up to the Royal Knights.” She glanced at Geoffrey and gave the barest nod, which he returned solemnly. “I’m certain this task will create anger among the people, and the Royal Knights may be resented for their role in it… But my duty as queen demands that it be done. The people will have to learn to accept that.”

Soren could tell Ike was surprised by her response, despite the fact that he quickly stifled his reaction. “I respect your devotion to duty,” he said, then pausing awkwardly. “So, you don’t need me then?”

Elincia turned to face him fully, and although her expression was kind, Soren thought for a moment that she was being extremely cruel. “That’s right,” she replied in an even tone. “I’m going to move on, together with my vassals and the people of this country.”

After a slight hesitation, Ike nodded with a soft smile. “I know you’ll do an amazing job,” he said, and Soren wondered how he could appear so calm. Elincia had effectively rejected him, here in front of everyone. Soren was indignant on Ike’s behalf, even though he knew the emotion didn’t make any sense.

He stewed in his confusion while the others conversed easily. Elincia’s status as queen didn’t stop them from speaking freely about how they’d been spending the past few years. And the fact that Elincia had just rebuffed him didn’t seem to make Ike behave differently at all.

When a Crimean soldier appeared, announcing that preparations were complete for the return to Melior, Elincia invited the Greil Mercenaries to march alongside her and spend the evening at the castle. “I’m afraid I will be quite busy as soon as we arrive,” she admitted, “But it would be my honor to see you fed and lodged in comfort.”

Ike looked at his mercenaries uncertainly, as if gauging what they wanted to do, but Titania accepted for them: “We’d love to!” she beamed.

“We just have to collect our pay from a friend of Bastian’s,” Ike added, “We’ll catch up.”

Elincia nodded, and Lucia and Geoffrey stood to accompany her. When they were gone, Ike turned to the mercenaries. “Everyone ready to move out?” To which they saluted, chirped, grunted, or otherwise signaled their agreement.

Ike led the way, with Titania beside him (her ankle healed to a degree that she walked with a slight limp). Soren was next, but after taking only a few steps, he realized his right arm was limp and heavy at his side. Suddenly remembering the wound he’d gotten at the end of the battle, he wondered how he could have forgotten it. Lightheadedness froze him in place, and he gently moved his arm to test the cut under his shoulder blade. Whatever clotting had occurred was loosened, and he felt fresh blood ooze down his back. Luckily he wasn’t the only once to notice, and despite the other mercenaries passing without a sideways glance, Mist stopped to exclaim: “Soren, you’re hurt!”

“I realize that,” Soren shot back, testing his shoulder again. He was annoyed that everyone had stopped to look at him. Ike’s face filled with concern as he strode back to check on him. Meanwhile, Mist forced him to sit on one of the recently vacated benches and set about clearing and healing the gash. As blood vessels and nervous tissue were repaired, sensation gradually came back to his arm and side.

There was a bit of blood on the floor where he’d been standing, and as he stared at it now, he realized he’d been so captivated by the exchange between Ike and Elincia that he hadn’t even felt any pain. Now he stared at Ike’s boots, standing beside him, and wondered why he couldn’t meet his eye.

Back in the barn where’d they left Calgary, the mercenaries found one of her spies and a chest full of gold. But the woman was nowhere to be found. “Here is your payment,” the spy explained as soon as they arrived, “Calgary said she would convey your success to Lord Bastian. This concludes your contract.”

“If either of them ever want to hire us again,” Ike replied, “they know where to find us.”

While the mercenaries strapped the box behind Titania’s saddle, Soren considered Ike’s words. On the short walk from Alpea to this village, the company had already started talking about how life was going to be different now, and the same chatter continued now. They weren’t going to hide anymore, they wouldn’t avoid Elincia or high-profile jobs, they could visit all their old friends, and they could return to the old base and stay as long as they wanted.

Soren tried to recall the feeling he’d had when Ike had shaken hands with Geoffrey only an hour ago. At the time, he had felt he’d missed an opportunity; he’d felt a window was closing. But now Elincia had refused further aid from the mercenaries. She was inviting Ike to stay in Melior for an evening, and only an evening. The Greil Mercenaries would never be tied to the crown, and Ike would never be bound to Elincia. Life would go on as usual. Soren hadn’t lost an anything, and yet, now that he tried to pin it down, he couldn’t articulate what exactly he’d wanted to do.

Elincia was occupied the rest of the afternoon giving sober yet inspiring speeches—saying she was glad Crimea was whole again but claiming she could not celebrate when the blood of her countrymen had been spilled so needlessly. She gave orders left and right, putting Felirae under the crown’s control, investigating anyone suspected of supporting the rebellion, and arresting any participants or instigators before they could flee. (As the escapees were rounded up, Melior’s jails and dungeons were filled to bursting.) Elincia was also busy long into the night with back-to-back private meetings, in which Soren had no doubt she was scheming with her allies and striking new deals with nobles who had thus far remained neutral.

From the moment the mercenaries entered Melior Castle to the time they went to sleep that night, they were merely spectators to all this activity. They hardly saw the queen, except in passing, and she didn’t have time to sit down with them again. However, Nephenee, Brom, and their other friends joined them for a dinner in one of the palace’s more modest halls—after which Calill and Largo hosted them for drinks and games at their tavern. When they returned to the suite Elincia had prepared for them in the palace, the mercenaries whiled away the evening hours at the fireside.

Soren had been stealing glances at Ike all evening, and he was overwhelmed by how happy and relaxed he seemed. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and Soren imagined the same lightness was filling him with every glance.

He remained with the group, listening but saying little, until his exhaustion drew him away to the luxurious beds Elincia’s servants had made up for them. Ike and the others had decided they would head out for their old base tomorrow, which meant several long days of riding ahead. He would enjoy the down pillows and soft blankets while he could.

However, no sooner had he adjourned to the hall did Ike rise from his chair, saying, “Oh wait, Soren.”

He hesitated, holding the door, and Ike joined him a moment later, letting the door close, muffling the sound of the others in the parlor.

“You’re going to bed?”

“It is late,” Soren replied.

Ike yawned as if he agreed but then shook his head as if to rouse himself. “Before you go, there’s something I wanted to say.”

“Very well.” Soren waited.

“I’m…sorry,” Ike explained slowly, “for getting mad. About that business with Bastian. It turned out to be a good thing.”

“No matter the outcome,” Soren replied evenly, “I neglected your trust. For that, I suppose I should apologize.” He knew he was still no good at apologies, but this made Ike’s eyes soften a moment before he frowned.

“The truth is… I think I was running away from Crimea this whole time.”

“Crimea?” Soren repeated doubtfully, thinking ‘Elincia’ would be more appropriate.

Ike sighed. “I want to help people, I really do. And I’m not an idiot—I know money and peerage can do a lot more for people than swinging a sword around… If I’d stepped into the role everyone wanted me to. If I’d become one of Elincia’s vassals…” He shook his head. “But that just wasn’t me.”

“…I think I understand now,” Soren replied, wondering how his jealousy could have blinded him to something so simple, something that, perhaps, should have been obvious.

Ike sighed again, and when he did, the levity that had had filled him earlier seemed to return. “But it’s not like it was back then. The pressure’s gone. I’m glad we came back here. I’m glad I could help Crimea…”

“By swinging a sword around?” Soren supplied with an unbidden smile.

This made Ike grin. “Yeah.”

Soren nodded and turned to go. Unable to control his face and voice right now, he didn’t trust himself not to say something he would regret.

“Good night, Soren,” Ike said softly behind him.

“Good night, Ike,” he managed to say without turning around.

He heard the door handle click and the voices of the other mercenaries grow louder for a moment as Ike returned to the parlor. Soren allowed himself to smile softly into the shadows of the hallway until he found his room.

Under the coverlet, he closed his eyes and dreamt of sound and motion: the looseness of Ike’s shoulders, the rocking bounce in his step, the way his weight had settled into chairs all evening, the relaxed, low note of his voice, which came easily from the back of his throat. This—this was peace. This was relief. Soren imagined the lightness was carrying him away and he would float right off the bed.

Due to the queen’s busy schedule, Soren didn’t expect to see her again before they departed (and he was perfectly fine with that). But while everyone was sluggishly preparing to leave, she appeared in their suite’s parlor asking for Ike. Mist retrieved him, and the pair went into the hall to speak privately. Soren resisted the urge to eavesdrop at the door, and considering how Mist was hovering nearby, he wondered if she had the same temptation. 

It was not a long conversation, and when Ike came back, Elincia was gone. He seemed distracted and was attempting to attach his scabbard to his back before first donning his leather jerkin. Soren walked over and pulled the straps away from his fumbling hands. Only then did Ike’s eyes widen and his expression clear.

“Troubling news?” Soren asked coolly, handing him the appropriate piece of armor.

Ike shook his head. “Nothing we didn’t already suspect. I shouldn’t let it get to me…”

“Are you being intentionally vague?” Soren stepped back.

Mist took his place, helping Ike tie the straps he couldn’t easily reach. “What’s wrong?” she asked sympathetically.

Ike shook his head as he tied on his cape. “It’s the Black Knight. Bastian had Nados searched after the war and never found his body. He really is alive, and more likely than not, that really was him fighting in the Daein Revolution.”

Soren hesitated to reply, knowing Ike had forbidden him from nagging about the Black Knight anymore. “You’re right—it’s nothing we didn’t already suspect.”

“Right.” Ike pulled on his gauntlets. “There’s nothing we can do now but wait for our paths to cross again.”

“Right…” Soren agreed reluctantly.

“We’ll beat him this time,” Mist assured, pulling her staff away from the wall. Like Soren, she was already ready to leave.

The mercenaries still had the horses they’d acquired in Begnion, and they hooked the two sturdiest up to a wagon they purchased with their fresh gold. This meant Gatrie and Boyd were without steeds, but Boyd traded with Mia and Mia, in turn, traded with Soren. This left Soren and Gatrie driving the cart. He was not the best company (Soren didn’t find a single one of his jokes or observations entertaining), but at least it was more comfortable than riding.

The cart allowed them to load up on supplies, and eight days later, they arrived in Arbor ready to reclaim their old base. Here they were notified that brigands had once again taken up residence inside the fort, from which they were raiding the local villages mercilessly. Several young women had been raped and murdered, and as their first new contract, the local constable asked them to kill the bandits instead of merely chasing them off.

Leaving the cart and horses in town, the mercenaries marched up the woodland path to take back what was theirs and see justice done. They took the squatters by surprise and were able to kill half by the time the rest barricaded themselves in the keep. The barricade was useless, however, and it didn’t take the mercenaries long to bash in the old doors.

Once the mercenaries were inside, the remaining bandits either died in the entrance hall, fled deeper into the fort (where they died), or tried to escape through the back entrance (where they were cut off by Titania, and died).

Looking at the wreckage, corpses, and general filthiness around him, Soren realized cleaning was going to be quite a chore this time. This was confirmed when Mia exploded out of the mess hall, saying, “There’s a live pig in here!” Everyone rushed in and found not only the pig but also two chickens and a young goat with a broken leg bleating grumpily from where is was tied in the corner.

“What the hell?” Boyd exclaimed.

“There’s shit everywhere,” Shinon observed. “No way am I-”

He was cut off by Ike shoving a mop into his chest. “Yes, you are,” he said firmly. “Titania, Gatrie, Mist, go back into town for the wagon. Oscar, see if those thugs left anything edible behind.” An angry bleat from the goat seemed to give him pause. “Anything not currently breathing,” he amended. “Rhys, take the animals outside. Everyone else, pick a corner and start cleaning!”

Leaving their weapons and armor in a relatively clean spot the entrance hall, the mercenaries covered their mouths and noses with rags and set to work. In addition to sanitizing the kitchen and mess hall, one of the essential first tasks was dragging the bandits’ bodies outside and burying them (but not before Shinon had his way with their pockets). Mia quickly discovered that the bandits had been riddled with lice, so all of the mattresses, furs, and blankets inside the fort were burned. When Titania and the others returned, Mist set about planning what should be done with the fresh lumber they’d purchased.

After four days, Soren felt as if only an hour had passed. But when he looked around, he did see a marked improvement in the fort’s appearance. Today they’d stuffed enough mattresses for everyone to return to their own rooms tonight, rather than camping under the stars like they had been.

Back in his old room, Soren touched the scratches on the wall behind the door with practiced familiarity. His arm reached out of its own accord, just to acknowledge their presence and perhaps signal his return. The last time he’d been here had been one and a half years ago. His height hadn’t changed in that time, and he no longer expected it to (at least, not any time soon).

Tracking his growth suddenly felt so foolish that Soren found himself pushing and pulling the room’s wardrobe against that wall. This meant rotating the bed, and for a moment, the room was quite cramped.

The grating of furniture drew Mia, who watched him give the bedframe a final shove. “What the hell are you doing in here?” she asked with an eyebrow raised.

“Moving things,” he replied, “clearly.”

Mia pushed a hand against the door until it banged against the side of the wardrobe. “Your door doesn’t open all the way,” she noted.

Soren glared at her. “It will suffice.”

Turning her gaze over the room, she nodded and grinned. “You know, it actually looks bigger in here now, more open in the middle.”

Soren crossed his arms. “Your design expertise is appreciated.”

Mia tossed a shoulder and moved away from the door. “C’mon, we’re playing charades in the mess hall, and you’re on my team.”

With a last look at his handiwork, Soren followed her out.

Once their base was in order, the Greil Mercenaries were eager to get back to work. Aside from rescuing Lucia and ousting the bandits from the fort, they hadn’t had a good fight since Daein. And even back then, most of their final jobs had passed without a hitch as the number of refugees had dwindled.

Luckily, unrest in Crimea was good for business, and after treading the line between full-blown civil war and a brief, squashed rebellion, the nation was certainly in a state of unrest. The mercenaries didn’t have to travel far to acquire jobs defending the poor and downtrodden, just as Greil had always done.

Soren had determined many years ago that, as long as wealth and power was strictly isolated to a single class of nobles, droves of commoners would continue to resort to crime and form coalitions of violence in an attempt to carve out better lives for themselves. As long as the vast majority of people in Crimea were poor and the rich controlled the military, the bandit clans would never be fully eradicated and Crimea’s seedy underbelly would continue to flourish. Therefore, the Greil Mercenaries would always find work protecting the ‘honest, hardworking poor’.

Soren knew who the real villains were and saw the flaws inherent in Crimea’s governing; but it was no different than the way Begnion or Daein functioned (or indeed Gallia, from what he could tell about it). Things were not going to change any time soon, and Soren didn’t especially care as long as he continued to earn coin on the blood of others.

Five months after returning to the base, life had become routine again: the same simple work, the same low wages, the same roads and villages, the same antics around the fort. In some ways, Soren’s life was just as it had been before the Mad King’s War, but in other ways it was undeniably different. Soren was an officer now, and Ike was the commander. Soren knew he was a Branded now, and he had accepted that fact. Ike knew what he was too, and he was even more accepting of it. Soren had learned he was capable of loving someone, and that person was Ike. Life wasn’t as wearisome or frightening as it had been seven years ago. And perhaps, Soren thought, that was proof he was growing up even if he wasn’t growing any older.

These thoughts and others flitted through his mind as he stood at the open door to Greil’s old study (which was now Ike’s study). He had come to give Ike the most recent battle report, but now he was rooted to the spot, watching his friend sort through documents at his desk.

Soren was struck by how content he looked; he hated reading reports, and yet he looked satisfied. During the war, his resting face had always been rather grim, but that had eased now. Like Greil, he looked too big for the desk—a gentle giant making the conscious effort to nestle down, perhaps in an attempt to teach his rough hands the softness of paper.

The day was sunny but cold, and a breath of winter air was coming through the window. Outside, Mist, Boyd, and Rolf were laughing riotously in the yard, and their voices drifted up to him, catching his attention. Ike smiled slightly at their mirth and then looked at the sky, scratching one hand behind his ear. The side of his forearm was littered with goosebumps, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Ike hadn’t yet noticed Soren watching him, and Soren didn’t want to announce himself. He needed this moment to stretch on and on, so he could finally understand what he wanted from it. This moment was sublime, but it wasn’t enough. He had time, so what did he want to do with it?

Right now, he wanted to walk into Ike’s study and touch those rough hands. He wanted to touch his cheeks and his hair and warm up his cool skin. He wanted to look at the sky where he was looking and see what he saw. He wanted to know what Ike was thinking, and he wanted to hear his voice: the one he used when he wasn’t being the commander, when he was just talking to a friend one-on-one.

But Soren couldn’t do these things now, and he never would. So what was the next best thing? The answer came just as Ike finally turned to him. “Oh,” he said, his eyes widening in surprise, “Soren, did you want something?”

He wanted to tell Ike the truth. He wanted Ike to know how he felt. He wanted Ike to know all the other things he wanted, even if he could never have them. The realization tangled his tongue. He couldn’t speak. “I, um, er…”

“Soren, are you alright?” He pushed back his chair to stand.

With a firm shake of his head that nearly made him dizzy, Soren forced himself to walk forward. He set the report on Ike’s desk with rigid arms. “I am fine,” he said, finally finding his voice. His heart was beating fast.

Ike leaned across the desk and peered skeptically into Soren’s eyes. “You don’t look fine…” he observed.

“I must be catching cold,” Soren lied, backing away. “By your leave.” He gave a stiff bow that was entirely unlike him and left the study before Ike could point out his suspicious behavior.

He promptly left the fort, passing Mist and the others in the yard and Shinon on watch. He walked until he reached the edge of the woods, and there he stopped. He realized he didn’t know where he was going and that he didn’t actually want to run away. The cool air invigorated his lungs and quickened his blood. He realized he’d come to a decision somewhere between here and the door of Ike’s study: he would tell him the truth.

Soren didn’t expect Ike to return his affection; he had every expectation that Ike would become awkward and then try to let him down gently. Neither did Soren expect his feelings to go away or for them to become easier to ignore. But he still wanted to do it, because not doing it would always feel like living a lie. Soren already had to do that for the rest of the world—but not for Ike. Not anymore.

As for what would happen after his confession, Soren was optimistic that Ike would accept him no matter what he said, did, or admitted to. Ike would forgive him and help him move on, because he was a hero—and more than Soren ever deserved.

Perhaps their friendship and their working relationship would be uncomfortable for a while. But Soren was confident he could act professionally and function normally as the company’s strategist. As he pivoted on the spot and set his eyes on the study window, he found himself wondering if Titania had ever told Greil how she’d felt. Perhaps she had, just as Soren was about to now, and although Greil must have rejected her, she’d continued serving as his loyal deputy. Soren’s heart was harder than Titania’s. If she could do it, then surely he could. He just had to take the plunge—now, while the sun was shining and the mercenaries had their whole lives ahead of them. Because every day living a lie was liked living under a shadow.

Soren had taken four steps back toward the fort—and what felt like the rest of his life—when an intrusive scent caught his nose. A laguz was coming.

He didn’t want to tear his eyes away from Ike’s window, but he did. He didn’t want to turn back to the woods, but he did. He waited, and a couple seconds later, Ranulf appeared. The sky-blue cat was bounding along the trail on all fours, and the urgency in his gait caused a sinking feeling in Soren’s stomach. He wondered if this could be coincidence, or if the universe was conspiring against him. Perhaps there really was a goddess, and perhaps she really did hate him.

“Soren!” Ranulf skidded to a stop beside him and looked up at the fort with his mismatched eyes. An expression of relief split his feline features. “I was hoping you’d all be here.” An instant later, he reverted to his human shape. He looked tired, and Soren wondered how long he’d been travelling. He wasn’t wearing a disguise and was quite coated in dirt, which suggested he’d stayed in his cat form much of the way from Gallia.

“Why have you come?” Soren replied, not hiding his displeasure at seeing him again.

“I should probably explain that to Ike first,” he replied, shaking his head. “Can you take me to him?”

“Is it war again?” Soren asked plainly.

Ranulf seemed surprised by this prediction. His ears flicked forward and then back, where they remained bent, almost trembling. His eyes were sad as he gazed down at him. “Yes,” he admitted.

Soren closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Ike is this way,” he said when he opened them again. He strode briskly toward the fort, and Ranulf walked beside him. With each step, Soren took a piece of his happiness and folded it up. He tucked it all away in the recesses of his heart, and he took his plans and stored them in the back of his mind.

As they passed through the yard, the others stopped what they were doing to stare at Ranulf. Mist was gone, and Rolf and Boyd were sparring alone. Boyd had Rolf in a headlock, and there his head hung while both pairs of eyes followed them.

When they neared Ike’s study, Soren discovered where Mist had disappeared to. Both she and Titania were here, chatting with Ike. He gestured for Ranulf to wait in the hall.

“Who wants to live like some overstuffed noble, anyway?” Mist was saying. “Definitely not me!” she laughed, “We have Father’s legacy to look after as well: the Greil Mercenaries!” She lifted her cup in a toast just as Soren strode in.

Mist was at the window, Ike leaning against the desk, and Titania sitting in one of the corner chairs. All three turned their gaze to Soren, and Titania was already opening her mouth to greet him when he cut her off: “Ike, a visitor to see you.”

“A visitor? Who is it?”

Before Soren could explain, Ranulf let himself in. “Long time no see, Ike!” he beamed, passing Soren on his way to grasp Ike’s arms. “I’ve been looking all over Crimea for you. I didn’t expect you to be home!”

“Ranulf!” Ike laughed. “How are you? How’s everyone in Gallia? Is King Caineghis alright?”

Mist squealed and gave Ranulf a hug, and Titania jostled his shoulder affectionately.

“Everyone is doing great,” Ranulf replied, and all of the urgency Soren had seen in him had disappeared. Perhaps he was really elated to see old friends, or more likely, he was just trying to ease them into the news. “We laguz don’t take ill too easily, so it’s hard not to be ‘well’,” he joked.

“Seeing you again brings back memories,” Ike sighed nostalgically, “We couldn’t have won the war without Gallia’s aid—and yours especially”

“Well, same goes for you.” Ranulf rubbed the back of his head. “Who knows where Gallia would be if not for Ike and the Greil Mercenaries!”

“Speaking of old friends…” Ike took a step back, and the gaze he ran over Ranulf was more analytical this time. He was looking for something. “I saw Princess Leanne in the Crimean court a while back. Apparently, she’d been looking for me too.”

Soren stared at Ike in surprise. He had shared his conversation with Elincia about the Black Knight, but he hadn’t mentioned talking with Leanne. Soren wondered what they could have discussed, given the princess’s difficulty using the common tongue.

Ranulf seemed to wince at Ike’s words, but he didn’t immediately offer an explanation.

Ike continued: “She said, ‘Please save my brothers.’ Do you know what she was talking about?”

All eyes were on Ranulf now, including Soren’s. “So she’s heard…” Ranulf shook his head. “Let me get straight to the point, Ike. I have some bad news: war has come to us once again.”

“What!” Ike and Titania demanded. Mist just gasped.

“The Laguz Alliance,” Ranulf explained, “comprised of Gallia, Phoenicis, and Kilvas, is setting out against Begnion. The situation has escalated rather quickly.”

Soren could hardly believe what he was hearing. When Ranulf had said ‘war,’ Soren hadn’t suspected anything of this magnitude. What he described was more than half of Tellius.

“‘Escalated’ seems a bit soft,” Ike scoffed, clearly unable to believe it either. “I know there are problems between the laguz and Begnion, but I thought things were getting better.” Surely he was recalling the trade agreement they’d safely transported last year.

Ranulf released a long sigh. “Rafiel, the eldest of the Serenes royal family, brought back some disturbing news from Daein. He’s learned that Begnion senators ordered the herons’ extermination. This has spurred the laguz to strike against the empire.” Silence stretched as everyone tried to understand what Ranulf’s claim. “That’s why I came looking for you, Ike,” he turned to face him fully. “We need your help.”

Again, no one said anything. Ike was staring at the floor. “Let’s just- Let’s just take a seat. Walk me through this again.”

He, Titania, and Mist led Ranulf to the briefing room. Soren trailed after, his mind already buzzing with the ramifications of Ranulf’s story and the many questions its spawned. When they arrived, Titania closed the door to stop the other mercenaries from snooping. (Rolf was already in the hall, and Soren had no doubt he would be pressing his ear to the crack in a moment.) Then Titania poured Ranulf some water and sat down.

“So you’re saying another royal survived the Serenes Massacre?” Ike began.

Ranulf nodded. “As the eldest, Rafiel is the crown prince.”

“And you said he was in Daein? Was he imprisoned as Lillia was?” Titania asked, her voice heavy with concern.

Ranulf shook his head. “No, he’s actually been in Death Desert for the past twenty-six years. Or rather, in a place isolated by the desert called Hatari. He only arrived in Daein at the beginning of their revolution. He claims a voice guided him across the sands.”

“Wait, please slow down—Hatari?” Titania repeated incredulously.

“But-” Mist cocked her head. “I thought there was nothing beyond Death Desert? I thought everything else was flooded. It’s all ocean, isn’t it?”

“Apparently not.” Ranulf raised both his palms. “Rafiel found other laguz there: the lost wolf tribe. He lived among them, and their Queen even came back with him as proof.”

“Wait, there are _wolf_ laguz?” Ike repeated. “That’s amazing!”

Ranulf gave a small smile. “It is truly incredible they survived the Dark God’s wrath. It makes you wonder what else may still exist beyond that impassable desert.”

Ike’s eyes were filled with childlike awe. “I wonder…” he began, but Titania’s lament cut him off:

“Impassible or not, how did Rafiel survive? How could he fly all the way from Serenes to this ‘Hatari’ in the first place?”

Ranulf hesitated before answering. “I still don’t understand it myself. He claims a voice told him to return to Tellius and led him on a safe path across the desert. At the end of that path, he met Daein’s Maiden of Dawn, who roped him into fighting in her war.”

“I thought herons hated fighting,” Mist pouted sympathetically. “Why would he-”

Ranulf raised a hand to stop her. “He must have had his reasons. As for how he got to Hatari in the first place, he claims not to remember. But couldn’t have flown there—he can’t fly at all. His wings were broken during the massacre.”

Mist covered her mouth. “Oh, that’s so sad!”

Ranulf nodded in agreement. “He is quite frail, and the Wolf Queen who guards him carries him on her back. It was a sight to behold when they arrived in Gallia. They came as soon as the Daein Revolution was over—to tell us laguz the truth about what Begnion did to his people.”

For a few moments everyone contemplated this story, and it was Ike who spoke first. “Soren,” he said, turning to him, “You’ve been awfully quiet. What do you make of this?”

Soren answered slowly: “What do I make of an injured heron who has memory lapses and follows disembodied voices?” He turned his skepticism on Ranulf. “I am waiting to hear why Caineghis—or any of the laguz kings for that matter—would believe anything this Rafiel character has to say, let alone go to war for it.”

Ranulf was clearly annoyed by his tone. “Despite what you may think, we laguz do not go to war lightly!” he hissed. “My King sent a messenger straight to Sienne asking for a meeting to discuss Rafiel’s information. Not only did the senate refuse, they blatantly murdered him! No messengers have come back since, and no one in the Laguz Alliance has been able to contact our ambassadors in Begnion. We assume the worst.”

Ike, Titania, and Mist were clearly appalled, and Soren couldn’t pretend he wasn’t shocked too. Killing even a single laguz messenger was a grave mistake. Either Begnion was overconfident in their ability to intimidate the laguz nations into backing down, or they didn’t care if they started a war. He supposed there was another possibility: they might just be afraid. It was possible just one senator had made a mistake and killed the messenger without thinking, and now the other senators were rising up to defend the blunder. Whatever the case, he needed more information.

“What does Rafiel mean when he says Begnion’s senators ordered the Serenes attack?” he asked next.

“He claims to have overheard the senators planning to exterminate the herons and burn the forest even before the apostle was assassinated.”

Soren glared to communicate his dissatisfaction with this answer. “If that is true, then why did he do nothing to prevent it and allow himself to be caught in the attack?”

Ranulf looked uneasy as he answered. “Well, the way I understand it, Rafiel wasn’t in Serenes when it happened.”

“Then how were his wings broken?” Soren asked pointedly.

“Slavers I think; he doesn’t seem to want to talk about it… But I trust him. Besides, why would the senators be acting the way they are if they weren’t guilty?”

Soren glared back. “Have you considered the ramifications of that fool bird’s claim? Five years ago, at Palmeni Temple, we determined that Ashnard orchestrated the attack on the Serenes by assassinating Begnion’s apostle and staging it to blame the herons. We concluded Ashnard had done this, because he successfully used the ensuing chaos to kidnap Princess Lillia and steal Lehran’s Medallion. Such a thing could only have been premediated.”

“That’s true but-”

“But you would rather believe Ashnard and the Begnion senate were working in tandem?” Soren asked coldly.

Ranulf raised his hands in defeat and leaned back in his chair. “Honestly, I’m just a captain in the Gallian Army. That’s above my paygrade. But whether the Mad King of Daein was manipulating the senate or just taking advantage of their ambitions for his own gain—it doesn’t matter, does it? Begnion still murdered our messenger in cold blood. The Laguz Alliance is going to war. I’m just here to ask the Greil Mercenaries for help.”

Although Ranulf had given up the debate, Soren felt like he was the one who’d lost. He didn’t have any more answers than Ranulf, and he couldn’t deny the cat’s pragmatism was correct. This war was going to happen no matter if it was justified by history or the actions of present day.

“Ranulf makes a good point,” Ike said, reclaiming the proceedings. “But,” he turned to his friend, “I still don’t understand what you need _us_ for.”

Ranulf seemed happier to answer Ike than withstand Soren’s line of questioning. “The armies of Gallia, Phoenicis, and Kilvas are strong, but my King knows brute force cannot win this fight. We have no experience invading another country, and we’ll need someone who understands beorc tactics.”

“That makes sense…” Ike nodded.

“Having a dozen of the world’s best beorc warriors wouldn’t hurt our chances either,” Ranulf added with a smile. “Gallia knows the Greil Mercenaries are reliable in a pinch.”

“I don’t know how much of a fight a handful of sell-swords can give Begnion, but…” Titania trailed off into a smile, apparently warming to this plan. 

Ike cleared his throat. “Ranulf, if that’s the whole story…why don’t you go explain the situation to the others while we discuss your offer? Mist, would you bring Ranulf to the mess hall? Maybe get him some food too.”

“Of course!” Mist pushed back her chair, and Soren heard Rolf scurry away from the door where he’d been spying this whole time.

Ranulf stood as well, but before he left, he ran his gaze from Ike to Titania, and then to Soren, where it lingered. “The rate is six-thousand gold per month, starting now,” he told him, “and a ten-thousand gold bonus if we’re successful in acquiring a surrender and reparations from Begnion.” He turned his gaze back to Ike, “But even more than that…the theocracy has shown that it never had any interest in treating laguz as equals. We won’t stand for it any longer—not when we were finally making some progress. You’re one of the few beorc who care about laguz, and you might be the only hope the Laguz Alliance has of actually winning this war.”

Ike nodded solemnly. “I understand that… Just let me discuss it with my officers. Then we’ll bring it to a vote.”

Ranulf nodded and followed Mist out of the briefing room. When he was gone, Ike turned to Soren. “Well?”

Soren steepled his fingers. “Ranulf is correct in his assessment. A laguz army is poorly suited for siege.”

“I mean, will you do it?” Ike clarified.

Soren realized Titania was staring at him too, biting her lip as if dreading his answer. “I thought we were having a discussion,” he countered.

“I want to do it. Titania?” Ike turned to her expectantly.

“I… I do not want to abandon our laguz allies,” Titania declared.

“Then I am outvoted,” Soren returned in annoyance “What need is there for discussion?”

“Because I won’t make you do this,” Ike explained, his voice suddenly gentler. “Not if you don’t want to, and not if you think you can’t do it.”

“What are you blathering about?” Soren shot back more sharply than intended. He didn’t want to be mad at Ike right now, but he was frustrated at the entire situation.

“It’s your brain the Laguz Alliance needs,” Ike pressed, “more than a bunch of mercenaries.”

Soren hesitated before replying, suddenly wondering if Ike vastly overestimated his abilities. “You have proven yourself a capable general,” he returned, “You have a wealth of experience and the right instincts. Ranulf came all of this way to ask you, not me.”

“Ranulf didn’t come looking for a general,” Ike argued, “He came for a tactician. That’s you.”

Soren knew Ike was right, and his palms grew clammy when he realized this decision really was his alone. “I need a moment to think…” he admitted.

“I know you’re not fond of laguz, but-” Titania began, but Soren cut her off:

“I need to think,” he repeated more firmly. Titania didn’t try to speak again. Soren stared past his hands at the tabletop. “Begnion has the largest army in Tellius…” he began, voicing his thoughts for Ike’s sake. “They have more resources, more funds, and although they have not had to defend themselves from a serious invasion since the first years of Daein’s secession, they are extremely well-fortified…” Neither Ike nor Titania interrupted, so he continued: “But they are still recovering from a difficult loss in Daein, and Tellius has never seen a full Gallian Army leave its borders, nor the Phoenician Armada its island. I would be curious what Kilvas can bring to bear as well—I wonder if they were giving their true might to Daein in the Mad King’s War or if they kept their strength in reserve…” 

“That sounds promising,” Ike noted optimistically.

Soren shook his head. “It doesn’t change the fact that the laguz will have no siege engineers nor even any ranged units in their entire army. Traditional warfare will be forfeit.”

“But there are many things the bird- and beast-men are capable of that mere beorc are not,” Titania offered.

Soren sighed into the silence that followed. “It may be possible,” he finally said. “But if I’m wrong, we will all die in Begnion.”

Neither Ike nor Titania responded at first, but then Ike asked again: “So will you do it?”

Soren took a long breath. “Yes. But it will cost you. I’m renegotiating my contract for this.”

Ike grinned widely. “You can have the whole ten-thousand bonus if you want!” he laughed, “As far as I’m concerned, you’re priceless.”

Once everyone had heard Ranulf’s story, Ike called the mercenaries together for a vote. Shinon voiced his contempt for siding with the laguz, claiming it would ruin his whole career. But Ike convinced him otherwise by pointing out that, if they were successful, they would be the first people in thousands of years to force Begnion into submission on their own lands. They would go down in history—and they stood to make a lot of money. No one asked what would happen if they failed.

In the end, the decision to support the Laguz Alliance was unanimous. Mist prepared a place for Ranulf to sleep (seeing as he would now be their guide to the muster point), and Titania began preparations to move out the day after next. Meanwhile, Ike pulled Soren aside. “I appreciate this,” he said again. “We’ll be counting on you.”

Soren thought of all the things he’d wanted to say to Ike earlier, but they seemed like foolish, faraway dreams now. “My first word of advice,” Soren replied, getting straight to the point, “we will need to arrange a supply of weapons, armor, and other items a laguz army will not carry with them.”

“We need sutlers,” Ike agreed. “I was thinking of Muston and Aimee’s crew.”

Soren nodded. “I believe Brom mentioned they were in Daein during the revolution.”

“Get letters out before the end of the day. Ask them to meet us in Flaguerre or Mugill in six weeks’ time. We’ll make it worth their while.”

“Right away, Ike.”

“If Ilyana is still among them, give her an invitation to rejoin the Greil Mercenaries: a limited contract for the campaign.”

“You want to grow our numbers for this?”

“As a fighting force, eleven mercenaries won’t make much of a difference,” Ike admitted with a shake of his head. “With what Gallia’s paying us, we can afford to take on more arms.”

“I agree…” Soren tried to call to mind anyone not currently bound by other vows and contracts. “With your permission, I will also reach out to Brom, Nephenee, Haar, and Calill.”

“Ask Haar what Jill’s up to, and see if Nephenee will bring that girl Heather along.”

Soren frowned to show his doubt. “Jill would be a worthwhile addition, but we do not know anything about this Heather person. Didn’t Nephenee admit she was a simple thief when they first met?”

Ike smiled as if to show he didn’t care. “Yeah, she mentioned something like that. But beggars can’t be choosers, and if she’s good enough for Queen Elincia, she’s good enough for me.”

“Fine,” Soren conceded, “I will offer her a contract.” He tried to think of anyone else who might be available. “I can try to find Volke, but I wouldn’t count on him. Brom mentioned that Zihark was in Daein as well… Everyone else seems to be a knight in the Crimean military or doing who-knows-what in Daein. I think that may be the extent of the friends you have to call upon.”

“Even one of them would make a difference,” Ike declared confidently. 

Later that night, Soren, Ike, Titania, and Ranulf drew up an official contract, and Soren noted a strange condition, written in Ike’s hand, in one of the final clauses. The paragraph was dedicated to spoils of war, and in it, the Laguz Alliance vowed to procure for Ike of the Greil Mercenaries the holy sword Ragnell from Begnion in the event that negotiations or plundering of Sienne accommodated the transfer of such property.

Soren knew why Ike wanted the sword back; he needed it to defeat the Black Knight. But the idea that Ike saw this war as just another step toward getting revenge was unsettling to say the least. Soren didn’t comment on the clause, however, and in the end, he signed the contract as it was.

When the deed was done, Titania watched the drying ink with a grave expression. “I remembered just now, something Prince Reyson said to me in Phoenicis. He had discovered the true wording of the Dragon King’s prophecy, and I never could forget it: ‘War breeds the strife from which Chaos is born. Let the land be not covered in war, else the Dark God shall be freed of the medallion and the world destroyed.’” She paused to let the warning ring throughout the room. “I do not doubt that the Laguz Alliance is in the right, but I do hope this is a conflict we can resolve quickly.”

“Hear hear,” Ranulf agreed, but his attempt at lightheartedness fell flat, so he added, “Look, we have four herons safeguarding the medallion now. Tellius will be fine.”

_End of Book II_

_The adventure continues in Book III_


End file.
